


Cangiante

by kedriaa



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Action, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Dragon Age Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 33,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedriaa/pseuds/kedriaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is surprised to find another long, lost family member – his son, who turns out to be magical as well. Anders takes it upon himself to mentor the young elf, and soon their relationship blossoms into something more.</p><p> </p><p> <i>Written for the Dragon Age Kink Meme</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta, haraamis :)

I.

Anders did not like the docks. Seemingly a natural congregation point for cutthroats and scoundrels, even more so than Darktown, there was always trouble brewing there. Darktown was mostly filled with the desperate and the impoverished – they weren't worth robbing, seeing that they had nothing to begin with. The docks, on the other hand, were brimful of cargo and merchant ships. Every so often some daring band of robbers would attempt to ransack a badly guarded warehouse or mug a rich, cocksure merchant. Sometimes, the degenerates just came out to play.

Those were reasons enough for Anders to move cautiously through the dimly lit streets. Under strict instructions to be discreet on this little excursion, he had set aside his robes and staff for the night, choosing to dress in a plain leather jerkin and trousers. He did have with him an enchanted dagger, for it was foolish to run around nighttime Kirkwall completely unarmed.

"Don't look so scared, sweet thing," Isabela crooned from the darkness, making him start. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"I'm not scared," Anders retorted indignantly. "I was a Grey Warden, you know?" However, he did admit to himself that he was feeling somewhat exposed without his favoured weapon close at hand.

Isabela laughed then crooked her finger at Anders, and he followed her. "It'll all be over in a jiffy."

"What exactly did you need me to do?"

"I'm about to make a deal for a small collection of rings and amulets. Could you just make sure they are the real thing, you know? Not some cheap knock-offs."

"Right," Anders said, casting her a look of exasperation. "That's me – healer and detector of fake magical trinkets." 

"Yes, that's it."

"You do realise that magic doesn't work that way?"

Isabela looked a little disappointed. "Well, can't you just ..." She wriggled her fingers.

"Sorry, Isabela, I can't just," he replied, wriggling his fingers as she did.

"Maybe I should've asked Hawke to lend me his enchanted dwarf," Isabela mused. 

"His what now?"

"His enchanted dwarf," she repeated. "Do you think the dwarf goes _boom_ or something when he's near magical objects?"

Anders bit his cheek to keep himself from laughing; Isabela did not need any more encouragement. "Why is it half of the things that come out of your mouth sound dirty?"

"What can I say? It's a gift." She smouldered at him.

Anders was about to retort when a voice drifted out of a darkened alleyway, "... a pretty thing."

"Hehe, yeah," a second one said. 

"Hurry up, I want to have a go, too," a third voice piped up.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening in there. Isabela and Anders exchanged dark looks and a silent understanding that those deplorable men must be stopped. Isabela immediately drew her blades and melted into the shadows. 

Without his staff, Anders couldn't effectively cast the more powerful offensive spells in his arsenal, but that did not mean he was helpless. Lightning crackled between his fingers as he stepped into the alleyway.

Two men were standing over a small body laid prone. A third man, who was in the process of unlacing his breeches, was knelt down beside the body. The trio turned sharply to look for the source of the sudden illumination. Even before they could voice their protest at Anders' intrusion, a bolt of lightning leapt from Anders' outstretched hand to strike one of them in the chest, directly over his heart. The man fell to the ground twitching. 

The second man hastily reached for his sword, though the blade never even left its scabbard as his angry growl turned into a wet gurgle when he collapsed with Isabela's dagger in his back. The third man scrambled to reach his own weapon as well, but Isabela was too fast for him, too. He toppled backwards, her second dagger protruding from his chest.

While Isabela retrieved her blades and pilfered through the bodies, Anders quickly moved to examine the victim. It was a young elven boy. Even though he was unconscious, a cursory examination told Anders he was not seriously hurt, and thanks to Isabela and his timely interruption, the boy wasn't violated.

Isabela leaned over his shoulder and purred, "Oo, he _is_ a pretty thing."

"Isabela!" Anders exclaimed.

"What? He is! Can a girl not admire beauty?" She scoffed. "Oh, rein in your sanctimonious spirit. I'm just looking. Besides, he's a bit young. I like my men, well, to be men."

Anders sighed. "Will you be alright on your own? I should get him back to the clinic. At least let him sleep off his injuries before sending him home."

Isabela feigned a hurt look, sighing dramatically. "Ditched again, for younger, prettier booty."

"Nonsense, there is no one prettier than you."

"Flatterer. Go do your healing thing." She looked up at the moon then said to herself, "Maybe I still have enough time to go fetch Hawke's enchanted dwarf."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

****

II.

Anders laid the boy down on a cot and began a more thorough examination of his injuries. Certainly, the boy had sustained several blows, and bruises were already forming on his face and torso, but it was his general well-being that had Anders worried. He had found evidence of previous abuse, and it was clear that the boy was suffering from malnutrition. Then again, so were most of the residents of Darktown and half the alienage.

Anders noticed the threadbare clothes the boy wore, hardly sufficient to protect him from the approaching winter. There was also a torc that encircled the base of his neck – it was curiously black, made from a metal Anders couldn't identify. There was something sinister about it; perhaps it was the shape of the scars that ringed the boy's neck, implying that the torc had somehow caused them. _Could it be a slave collar?_ Anders wondered.

The malnutrition Anders could do little about, but the bruises he could heal. Normally, he wouldn't heal such minor injuries – the body needed to learn how to take care of itself, but the boy looked like he needed all the help he could get; at least, till he got some food in him. Anders laid his hand gently on the side of the boy's head, barely touching him. He summoned a trickle of healing magic and his hand began to glow blue.

It was at that moment that the boy awoke with a violent start, so much so that he fell off the cot.

"Whoa, hey, it's alright," Anders said in a calm soothing voice. "Those men who attacked you are gone. I promise you're safe now."

The boy stared wild-eyed; nevertheless, behind the panic there was a spark of anger and defiance. His gaze was then drawn to Anders' still glowing hand and the mix of emotions melted into sheer terror. He immediately scrambled onto his knees and bowed down at Anders feet. 

Anders found that more disturbing than anything else. 

"Um, right..." He bent down to draw the boy up. The moment Anders touched him, the boy flinched but did not withdraw. He was shaking. Anders wondered what the boy had been through for him to provoke such a reaction. "Come on, sit up on the cot. The floor is filthy."

The boy complied immediately, but he kept his eyes downcast. Anders wasn't sure what to make of it. It was clear that the use of magic distressed the boy, but that wasn't unusual. A lot of people feared it. Thus, he picked up a potion and offered it to the boy instead.

The boy did not take it; in fact, he wouldn't even look at Anders. Anders pressed the bottle into the boy's hand and said, "Drink it, go on, you'll feel better tomorrow."

Silently, the boy did as he was told.

"You should stay here tonight. It's obviously not safe for you to wander around the city on your own at night." Anders urged the boy to lie down and pulled the blanket over him. The boy dared to cast a glance in his direction, confusion now tinting the fear that was still evident in his eyes. Anders gave him a small smile and said, "Get some sleep," before turning in himself.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

****

III.

Anders woke to the sound of someone shuffling around the clinic. He was certain he had locked and barred his door before going to bed last night. Seeing that he wasn't in chains, he concluded that it had to be the elven boy. Anders rubbed his eyes wearily; it felt a little too early to be getting up.

The boy had cleaned up the place, which was quite a feat considering that it _was_ a Darktown hovel.

"Thank you for tidying up. You didn't need to do it," Anders said. "I assume you're feeling better?"

The boy looked startled; slowly, he nodded ever so slightly. Then, as if remembering his place, he dropped his head and bowed.

Anders rubbed his temple. It was definitely far too early to be dealing with this sort of thing. He said firmly, "Right, first of all, please stop bowing to me."

The boy straightened, but still did not look up.

"Secondly, please look at me. You don't need to be afraid of me, really."

The boy tentatively glanced at Anders, his gaze flickering between Anders' eyes and the floor. In the morning light, Anders could see that he had beautiful, deep green eyes. Looking at them, Anders felt a strange kind of recognition but could not place it.

"Finally, my name is Anders. What's yours?"

In a quiet voice, the boy said, "Leto."

"Leto. That's a nice name." Anders smiled, and even though he could already guess the answer he said, "I'm sorry to have locked you in. Would you like to go now?"

Leto's expression was one of confusion and uncertainty, which really confirmed Anders' suspicions that Leto didn't have anywhere to go. Anders would have to decide what to do with him, but before that, they both could really do with some breakfast.

~*~

"My, my, my, what have we here?" Isabela purred when she spied Leto following Anders into the Hanged Man.

"Not now, Isabela," Anders groaned. 

"Yes, of course, food first." She nodded knowingly. "Does the pretty little thing need feeding too?"

"His name is Leto," Anders introduced. "Leto, this is Isabela, she helped save you last night. You should thank her."

Leto did as he was told.

"Oh, you dirty, old lecher, have you got him trained already? Was it the tender touch of your hand or the hard discipline of your whip?" She leered.

At the mention of whips, Leto blanched. Anders scowled, drew Isabela aside and whispered, "Stop it. He's terrified enough as it is. I think he's an escaped slave."

"An escaped elven slave?" Isabela chuckled. "Send him to Hawke, he seems to be starting a collection."

"That's not funny."

"What's not funny?" Varric asked joining them.

"Never you mind," Anders replied irritably.

"Not have breakfast yet, Blondie? You look ready to bite someone's head off." Without waiting for an answer, Varric called Norah over and ordered breakfast for them. 

"Blondie, why do you have an elven boy following you like a lost puppy?" Varric turned his attention back to Anders.

"Leto, sit down." Anders said exasperatedly.

"Leto?" Varric asked, his voice clearly surprised. He pinned the boy with a scrutinising look then asked, "Where did you meet him?"

It was Isabela who proceeded to tell Varric about the previous night's events, as Anders was too busy scarfing down the breakfast that had just arrived.

"Where are you from, Leto?" Varric asked the boy when Isabela had finished.

"Seheron," Leto said timidly.

The boy was probably fresh off a boat when those miscreants attacked him, Anders thought. Of all places in Thedas, he had to wonder why the boy had come to Kirkwall; it wasn't the first safe port from Seheron.

"Did you come to Kirkwall for a particular reason?" Varric voiced the question on all their minds.

Leto nodded.

"Maker, it's like getting blood out of a stone," Varric muttered.

"Not everyone is as gifted a storyteller as you, Varric," Isabela said. "Don't let the mean dwarf scare you, sweet thing. You can tell us, we may even be able to help."

Leto, who had only been nibbling at his food despite the encouragement from all three of them to eat, seemed to draw courage from Isabela's words. He said, "My father. I came to look for him."

Varric whistled, his expression seeming to imply he knew exactly who Leto was talking about. "Let me guess, you were named for him?"

Leto nodded, and immediately Isabela straightened and cried, "No!" incredulously. 

"What?" Anders asked, failing to make the connection.

"Oh, you weren't there when we found out his real name," Isabela replied. "I thought I had heard that name before. Now I do see some resemblance. It's the eyes, such pretty eyes."

It took a moment longer for Anders to also realise as to whom Leto's father was; after all, Isabela was always complimenting Fenris' blighted eyes.

Varric's smile was disgustingly pleased. "Well, this is going to make an interesting story."

Isabela laughed. "Eat up, little Leto, you're lucky to have been rescued by the few people who dare claim to be your father's friends. Well, maybe not Anders, but he doesn't count."

"Hey!"

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

****

IV.

"Why do I have to come along?" Anders asked Varric as the latter led their little entourage to find Fenris.

"In case you hadn't noticed, the cub only follows your orders."

"Precisely why I do not relish being there when you tell the elf that his son has decided to enslave himself to me. Maker knows how he's going to react."

"Anders has a good point, Varric," Isabela said, "Maybe this needs a little more finesse than just blurting out _"congratulations, you have a son!"_ Remember how well it went the last time Fenris had a family reunion?"

"Hmm, yes, you may be right," Varric replied. "Let's go tell Hawke. If anyone can temper the wolf in Broody, it would be him."

As they made their way to Hawke's mansion, Anders noticed how Leto walked several paces behind him with his head bowed in silent submission. 

"The cub can't help it," Varric explained when Anders voiced his observation. "It's very likely he's been born into slavery, so it's the only thing he knows. Look at Orana – despite the numerous times Hawke has told her she isn't a slave anymore, she can't help herself. And it's been three years. Give the cub some time and he'll learn. He's still young enough to break the habit; especially if he's anything like his father."

"Also, you're a mage," Isabela added.

"But not a Magister," Anders retorted.

"Don't think he knows the difference, Blondie."

Anders sighed. Varric was right. Even though it was unnerving, he would just have to bear with it for a little while longer. Perhaps once Leto was reunited with his father he would not hang on Anders' every word like it was the Chant.

They waited in the drawing room as Orana went to fetch Hawke.

"Broody may well be here," Varric muttered. "He and Hawke are practically fused together these days."

Isabela waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "They're probably fusing right now."

Varric cackled in response, which prompted Anders to say, "Don't encourage her, Varric. There is also a young, innocent mind present. No need to debauch him this soon."

"You are no fun anymore," Isabela complained.

Anders suspected that Isabela might've been right when a half-dressed and somewhat irritated Hawke greeted them. "This job better be worth a lot of gold," he muttered. "What is it this time? Dragons? Blood mages? Some half-wit noble lost his wayward son?"

"You whine but we know you love all this attention. Is Broody here?" Varric asked.

"No, why?" Hawke narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Oh, look at you, all protective," Isabela cooed, draping her arms around Hawke's waist and resting her head on his shoulder. "That is so sweet."

Hawke casually placed his index finger on Isabela's arm – a spark of lightning arced and Isabela yelped; she snatched her arm away and hissed a vile epithet at him.

Isabela wasn't the only one to react to Hawke's mischief. Leto gasped and shrank back – any more and he would be standing in the walls. It was this sudden movement that drew Hawke's attention to him. That made the boy even more nervous.

"Who's this?" Hawke asked.

"He's who we have come to talk to you about. This young man has come in search of his father," Varric began.

"So, instead, it's the filial son looking for the irresponsible father who abandoned him?" Hawke replied sarcastically.

"Yes, something like that," Isabela said gleefully, "Get to the good part, Varric."

"Yes, get to the good part. The suspense is killing me," Hawke drawled.

Varric smirked then introduced, "Hawke, meet Leto. Leto, Hawke."

The expression on Hawke's face was priceless.

"Well, I'll leave you ladies and gentlemen to your affairs. I'm sure I have patients waiting," Anders said, making a move to leave. Frustratingly, Leto followed him. "Leto, Hawke will take you to your father. Stay with him."

"Wait, what? Why me?" Hawke exclaimed.

"Because you're so good with these sorts of things – dragons, blood mages and family reunions." Anders smiled charmingly. "Don't worry, Varric and Isabela are more than happy to hold your hand while you do it."

Anders promptly left without looking back, missing the look of disappointment on Leto's face.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

****

V.

Later that evening as Anders was locking up his clinic, Hawke appeared at his door.

"Oh, good, you're finished for the day," he said with some relief. "I need your help."

"How many days' supplies do I need?" Anders asked, fully expecting to be led on another adventure in some dark, dank cave.

"None," Hawke replied, ushering Anders towards Hightown. "It's Leto, he's ill."

"You can't cure him?" Anders asked. Over the years, Hawke had taken the time and effort to improve his healing skills. With the kind of situations they often got into, he had decided having a second healer would be useful. It was all well and good having Anders around, but who was going to heal the healer, should the healer fall? Notwithstanding, Hawke's proficiency lay with illnesses of natural causes. Despite his best effort, he fell short of being the field medic that Anders was. 

"He won't let me." Hawke said with a hint of frustration in his voice. "I can't even cast the spells to tell me what is wrong with him."

"What do you mean he won't let you?"

"He seems terrified of me. Every time I try something he goes into a panic and practically throws himself at my feet. I thought maybe you'd have better luck."

Remembering how Leto had reacted in the presence of magic, Anders said, "It's not you. It's magic. He was quite distraught when I tried to heal him, too."

"Wonderful. Now what?"

"We could give him a sleeping draught then do what we need to do," Anders suggested. "Provided his father agrees."

"He'll agree," Hawke said resolutely.

Anders nodded. There was an odd tone of protectiveness in the other's voice. Had Hawke formed an attachment to the boy already? Hawke spoke little of his family, but Anders knew he had always drawn strength from them. In the last few years he had lost most of them, and with Carver being a Grey Warden, the brothers had grown ever more distant. Perhaps with Fenris and Leto, Hawke was beginning to feel he could have a family again.

When they returned, Fenris was seated at Leto's bedside, sponging the boy's forehead. Leto was shivering and delirious from a fever. It was strange for Anders to see the elf in such a vulnerable and tender situation. As if sensing his gaze, Fenris stiffened and hastily rose from his seat, making way for Anders to approach. He gave Anders a curt nod, and Anders took it as consent to heal Leto.

Once Anders was certain that Leto was in deep sleep, he began casting. He had barely begun working when Leto suddenly whimpered. Anders hesitated, wondering if he had given Leto enough of the draught. He resumed casting, working as fast as he could. Then Leto let out a wail, and Anders immediately snatched his hand back.

"What happened, Anders?" Hawke asked, Anders noticed he had a restraining hand on Fenris' arm.

"I'm unsure; what I did should not have caused him pain. With the draught he shouldn't even feel a thing."

As Hawke moved to examine Leto, his gaze was drawn to the torc the boy wore. He touched it gingerly, a frown furrowing his brows. "There's a powerful enchantment on this thing. I can only assume it is the cause of the pain. Do you know what this is, Fenris?"

Fenris took a closer look and shook his head. "It is a slave collar but one I have not seen before. Magisters craft or commission their own collars of specific purposes to suit their petty whims."

"Brilliant," Hawke muttered, then turned to Anders. "First, we get him well, then we find a way to remove that wretched collar. Anders?"

"He's not seriously ill, I was able to determine that much. It's very likely the ague. The fever and chills will come and go for a few days. Just keep a close eye on him, use potions to keep him comfortable. Several good meals would help too."

Hawke nodded then proceeded to wrap the blanket around Leto. "I'll have Orana prepare something suitable for him."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

****

VI.

On Hawke's request Anders stayed the night watching over Leto. The worst of the boy's fever dissipated after a few hours and he was able to rest easier. By dawn, he was much better and had regained his appetite.

Noticing he was awake, Anders took the opportunity to question him about the collar. True to Varric's words earlier, it was like getting blood out of a stone. Either Leto did not know very much about it or he was reluctant to say. In the end, all Anders was able to obtain a name for the collar's mysterious alloy and that, yes, using magic on Leto caused him pain. Anders coaxed the boy back to sleep before leaving to find Hawke.

"A collar made of Thalsian alloy?" Hawke repeated when Anders told him what he had discovered. "Is that significant?"

"I remember reading about an alloy that the Arlathan elves once forged. It was said to be black and that no man-made blade could cleave through. More importantly, the alloy was forged through magical means that gave it the ability to absorb or radiate magical energy. The knowledge of forging the alloy has been lost since Arlathan fell. Most alchemists and master smiths dismiss it as a myth."

Anders continued, "Legend has it, a Tevinter Archon, Thalsian, managed to obtain the knowledge of forging this alloy before Arlathan fell, but there hasn't been any evidence of it, historical or otherwise, until now."

"To be honest, I couldn't give a rat's arse about how they made it. I just want to know how to remove it, considering we can't use magic on it or hack through it."

After a moment's thought, Anders replied, _"Aqua regalis."_

"What now?"

"It's a universal solvent. I read about it in the Circle. It has the ability to break down the components of an alloy and return it to its elemental state. It's not easily obtainable though."

"Impressive. And here I thought your every waking moment at the Circle was spent devising another cunning plan to flee it." Hawke smirked.

"Oh, I studied. I always thought it better to be a learned apostate than a nescient hedge mage."

"Touché!"

Both Hawke and Anders turned to the door when it clicked opened. Fenris entered, looking like a thundercloud when he spied Anders.

"Fenris." Hawke smiled at him. "We may have a way to remove the Thalsian collar."

"A Thalsian collar? Are you certain that is what it is?" Fenris demanded. Anders hadn't thought it was possible, but the elf's expression darkened even further.

"That's what Leto told Anders. Why?" Hawke asked. "You've heard of them?"

"In passing," Fenris replied evasively. "They aren't common."

"You don't say?" Anders said condescendingly. "Given the alloy itself is considered a myth, who would've thought?"

Fenris bristled.

"There will be no glowing under my roof," Hawke said tersely, heading off another confrontation before it began. "What do you know about this specific collar, Fenris?"

The elf hesitated, glaring at Anders. Evidently he was reluctant to divulge what he knew in Anders' presence, but eventually he said, "It is said to be used to control slaves who possess magic."

Anders was surprised by the implication of Fenris' words. 

Hawke asked, "Why would the Imperium want to collar mages? They revere magic."

"Yes, they do," Fenris said, his voice tight with indignation and annoyance. "But some Magisters believe that magic is a privilege reserved solely for humans. They consider slaves with magic an affront to nature. If the slave is weak he or she would probably be killed. If he has considerable power, he would mostly likely be collared and used."

"Used, how?" Hawke pressed on, ignoring Fenris obvious reluctance.

"The collar has the ability to harness magical energy and the Magister will be able to siphon the energy out of the collar."

"A nigh-infinite power source. That would make Leto somewhat valuable, yes?" Anders said. It was more of a statement than a question. "Valuable enough for someone to want to retrieve him?"

"Wonderful." Hawke sighed. "Just when I thought we were done killing hunters. We should get Varric and Aveline on the lookout. Do you by any chance know which Magister would have the resources to commission a Thalsian collar?"

"I'm not privy to how other Magisters control their slaves, Hawke," Fenris growled. "What are you smirking at, abomination?"

"The irony that magic would run so thickly in your blood."

"Anders," Hawke chided, "Don't rattle the cage. Why don't you go get this solvent?"

_"Aqua regalis,"_ Anders supplied.

"Whatever, just get it and take the collar off."

"That might not be wise," Fenris interjected.

Anders snorted, "Why am I not surprised you want to keep a mage collared? Hypocritical enough you'd so willingly condemn another to slavery; this is your _son_ we're talking about."

"So he says," Fenris retorted.

"What? You think he's lying? Why would he lie about something like that? It's obvious that you aren't a model of great parenting. I'm sure he could find a better father to claim if this was a ruse."

"And you've decided that I'm a bad father after discovering I have an alleged son for less than a day? As if you could do better."

"I certainly couldn't do any worse!" Anders shot back.

"Enough!" Hawke snapped. "Honestly, I will have you both muzzled! Anders, go – buy it, steal it, make it – do whatever you need to, just get some."

Anders nodded and promptly left. He trusted Hawke enough to not allow Fenris to keep Leto collared. Hawke may not be actively working to liberate every mage in Kirkwall, but as an apostate himself, he knew the value of freedom. Anders would've thought the former slave would, too.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

****

VII.

It took a lot of fast talking but Anders had convinced Justice that helping Leto was something worthy of their cause. Leto's collar was the ultimate symbol of mage oppression, a secret wish of what too many people would like to do to the magic-born. It could not be ignored.

Additionally, the knowledge of such a cruel device must not fall into the hands of the Chantry or Templars. It must be destroyed for the sake of all those mages still corralled in the Gallows. Justice had seen the logic to his arguments and thankfully stopped nagging him about wasting time and distractions. There was still ample time to resume executing their original plan.

After a few days of searching, Anders had managed to track down most of the reagents needed to create the universal solvent. There was only one last reagent missing – _sela petrae_. This was actually a good thing. Anders needed it for another compound and he could ask Hawke for help searching for the exotic reagent without having to spin a yarn as to why he required it. While they were searching for _sela petrae_ , Anders thought to ask Hawke for help with the drakestone he needed, too.

As expected Hawke was only too happy to help. Considering the _sela petrae_ could only be found in the sewers of Darktown and the drakestone in the caves around the Bone Pit, Hawke had asked Varric and Aveline to accompany them. They all knew the critters that lurked in those locations and there was safety in numbers.

They began their search in Darktown and soon found themselves hip deep in Kirkwall sewage and lyrium smugglers. They were heartily making chopped liver out of the smugglers when Varric asked after Leto.

"He's recovering well," Hawke shouted above the din of the battle. "Have you heard anything?"

"Oh, I've heard many things," Varric replied, letting loose a bolt to stop a smuggler from bashing in Aveline's skull. "Not sure they've got anything to do with the cub though."

"Don't be facetious," Hawke snapped as he crushed the remaining assailants with a well placed Fist of the Maker spell.

There was a lull in the air, and the quartet waited for a moment before deciding that there would be no more to kill.

"Anyway," Varric continued, as he began looting the bodies of the smugglers systematically. "I've only managed to ferret out dead ends and unfounded rumours. What of you, Aveline?"

"Any hunters in the city are unlikely to call the attention of the city guards to themselves." Aveline sheathed her sword and slung her shield over her shoulder.

"I'm not sure whether to be relieved or worried," Hawke scratched his ear absently, "Just keep vigilant."

Aveline and Varric nodded, then the latter asked, "How is Broody dealing with all this? We hardly see him these days."

Hawke gave them half a shrug. It was an indication that he didn't want to talk about it, more than likely under the elf's orders.

"How's the cub taking it, then?" Varric inquired instead.

"Haven't got a clue. He's hardly said two words to me. Maybe you could speak with him, Anders? He doesn't seem as terrified of you."

Anders looked up from collecting the specimen of _sela petrae_ and said, "That's because I'm charming." He stood shortly afterwards announcing that he had collected all he needed, much to the relief of his companions.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

****

VIII.

Anders decided to pay Leto a visit one evening while the others were carousing at the Hanged Man. He found Leto helping Bodahn with daily chores when Anders visited. Apparently, old habits died hard. The boy actually seemed happy to see Anders. He wondered why Leto was so uncomfortable with Hawke.

"I understand that you have magic?" Anders asked when he had finally coaxed Leto to rest for a while.

"Yes, Master," Leto replied, his head suddenly bowed low, as if the fact shamed him.

"Please don't address me as such. Anders will do."

Leto nodded.

"Were you given any instruction at all?"

He shook his head.

"How did you find out you have magic?"

Leto seemed to ponder this for a moment, he looked up slightly and said, "The collar."

"You're going to have to elaborate."

"We were given collars, but it only seals when put on someone with magic."

Anders was careful not to show his anger, as Leto would very likely misinterpret his outburst. "How long have you been wearing it?"

"For as long as I can remember."

"Well, not much longer. I'm going to get that blighted thing off you, sooner rather than later."

Leto's eyes widened, though Anders was not quite sure whether it was in fear or in hope or a bit of both. Simultaneously, the boy also touched the collar gingerly, but it seemed to be merely a subconscious gesture. After a short moment of silence, he asked, "Am I to serve you in a different capacity?"

"Maker, no!" Anders exclaimed, "You're not to serve me at all!"

"I belong to Magister Hawke, then?"

"Andraste's blighted knickers! You do not belong to _anyone_ anymore! And neither Hawke nor I are Magisters."

"But you have magic."

"As do you."

"I am not permitted to use magic," Leto muttered. There was a subtle tone of resentment underlying the conditioned response. 

Anders' mood lightened a bit. Perhaps there was hope for the soon-to-be mage yet.

"Nonsense! No one has the right to keep you from your Maker-given gifts. Don't let anyone tell you differently. Once the collar is removed, I will instruct you on how to use magic."

Leto looked unsure at that, then, in a small voice, he began, "But my father –"

"Your father –" Anders interrupted but held his tongue just before the insults could spill from his lips. As much as he disliked the bigoted, hypocritical elf, Anders felt it wouldn't be fair of him to poison Leto's mind against Fenris before the boy had a chance to get to know his father. If Fenris was to remain biased against mages, Leto would find out for himself soon enough. Anders hoped, for the boy's sake, that the elf could accept his son's magic just as he had so obviously accepted Hawke's.

"Your father," Anders began again, choosing his words carefully, "Will eventually see that this is for the best."

Leto nodded in response, though his expression showed that he did not have much confidence in Anders' words, making Anders wonder what Fenris had been saying to him. The boy looked up at Anders, as if he was about to say something, but then he seemed to think better of it. Anders almost growled with impatience.

He had to find a way to draw the boy out of this blasted slave mentality.

"Do not fear to speak what is on your mind to me, Leto."

"If I do not belong to Messere Hawke, do I have to stay with him?"

Anders laughed. "No, you don't have to stay with him, you can return to your father's mansion whenever you like."

"I can't stay with you?"

"Your father would not approve. Moreover, dilapidated mansion is still two shades better than Darktown hovel."

"I can be useful! I can make potions." Leto hurriedly said. "I...I saw you make them, too. I can help."

Anders was about to protest, but he was also intrigued by the proclamation. "What kind?"

"Any. Alchemy was my duty. My mistress even commented once before that I was good at it."

"You can read?"

"A little; as I was often left alone to carry out my duties, my mistress felt it was important that I could read labels and instructions."

Anders smiled. "I cannot permit you to stay with me; that is up to your father. However, I shall request for him to allow you to assist me."

Leto visibly brightened at the prospect, as Anders noted with some satisfaction.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

****

IX.

It was one thing to be freed by an altruistic hero or a larger-than-life champion, and quite another to have had a hand in claiming your own freedom. There was little else compared to the satisfaction and exhilaration in achieving it – Anders would know, having engineered his own escapes from the Circle many times.

By asking Leto to assist him in making the _aqua regalis_ , Anders was empowering the boy and instilling in him the notion that freedom could be gained through one's own actions. While the boy was timid, Anders could see the underlying steel in Leto's demeanour, no doubt a trait inherited from his father. Anders was certain that given the right encouragement, Leto would eventually outgrow his conditioned subservience. 

Leto was meticulous and careful in his work. Anders tried not to hover, but he was fascinated by the way the boy worked. Through years of practice and study Anders had become a proficient potion maker, but Leto worked with the flair of a master alchemist. Anders had initially set him to work on simple healing and stamina potions, Maker knew Anders' companions drank them like they were going out of fashion, and he was pleasantly surprised at how potent the potions had turned out. What surprised Anders even more, though, was that Leto also had knowledge of making poisons. Evidently, Leto's former mistress had recognised the boy's skill and had not squandered it.

Leto was more than happy to fill his days with potion-making. He had moved on to more complicated and exotic potions, potions that even Anders had not attempted to make before. In between making those, he and Anders would spend the time in refining the _aqua regalis._ It took some effort and experimentation in trying to determine the right concentration for the solvent – too diluted and it would have no effect, too concentrated and it could very well burn Leto.

Most frustratingly, Anders had to do it from memory and snippets of references in his meagre collection of tomes. The recipe of solvent wasn't readily available at the nearest potion stall, not even in the Black Emporium. While Leto's innate knowledge of alchemy had been a great asset, Anders had to admit they needed help. He needed a comprehensive tome on alchemy, and there was only one place he could think of which had it readily at hand.

~*~

Thankfully, Keran had enough sense to not rendezvous with Anders in his Templar armour. The youth pulled his hood further down, as if fearing someone might see him meeting up with an apostate. Anders didn't blame him – Keran was already under close scrutiny after the whole fiasco with Tarohne.

"What do you want?" Keran asked nervously.

"I'm calling in the favour," Anders replied without preamble.

Keran's expression darkened, he set his jaw defiantly but still asked what exactly it was Anders wanted. 

Anders handed him a slip of paper. "I want this."

"Is this a book?" Keran asked incredulously, evidently he was expecting Anders to extort something more pricey from him.

"Yes, it's a book. You'll find it in the alchemy section of the library, if not, search in the archives. It's rather old but not rare, so chances are no one will notice it's missing."

"You want me to steal a book for you?" Keran asking, still sounding bewildered.

Anders resisted the urge to sigh. "Borrow," he corrected. "I intent to return it to you once I'm done."

"That's it? Then we're even?" Keran sounded quite relieved then.

"Of course." This time, Anders smirked. "Up until you run into more brambles frolicking in the rose bush and come banging down my door."

Keran flushed and scowled at Anders. "You'll get the book," he said shortly before he turned and headed back to the Gallows.

~*~

A day later, a young messenger boy found his way to Anders' clinic with a package. A note with Keran's untidy scrawl told him that he should send the book back by way of the boy when he was done. 

One evening in the next week, the _aqua regalis_ was completed. Hawke and Fenris had dropped by earlier inquiring about their progress and stayed till it was done. The elf was a little more dour than usual, and at the same time there was a kind of eager and expectant energy around him. Perhaps he had changed his stance on wanting to free his son. He had quite readily agreed to let Leto work with Anders, after all.

As they gathered around Leto, Hawke casually asked, "Should we be ready to duck? In case something goes boom."

Anders cast him a look of consternation that clearly said _'yes, Hawke, scare the child, why don't you?_ Anders laid a reassuring hand on Leto's shoulder and said, "Don't listen to Hawke, he has a perverse and inappropriate sense of humour."

At that Hawke smirked, "True, but it is a valid question. Didn't you say the alloy is capable of absorbing and radiating magic? If you break it down, where is all the stored magic going to go?"

"I'll take care of that, don't worry," Anders replied confidently; notwithstanding, Hawke _was_ right, Anders would have to channel the energy somewhere in case it did go boom. 

"Are you certain?" Fenris virtually barked.

Anders bit back a caustic retort, determined to take the higher ground, especially in front of Leto. There was no need to add to ambient tension. He merely gave the elf a curt nod.

Anders turned to meet Leto's eyes. A mix of emotions were stark upon the boy's eyes — hope, apprehension and fear. Anders smiled reassuringly as he moved to place his gloved hand on the collar. Leto unwittingly flinched but he did not shy away from Anders' touch.

Even through the thick leather, Anders could feel the subtle pulse of the magic stored, and he briefly wondered just how much the alloy was capable of holding. With his other hand, Anders picked up the _aqua regalis_ with a pipette. He poised the pipette over the collar, while looking expectantly at Leto. The boy gave him a subtle nod, indicating he was ready, before squeezing his eyes shut tight. 

Collective breaths were held as the first drop landed on the collar. Nothing seemed to happen. Just as disappointment rose, the solvent began to bubble. Anders added several more drops and he watched the solvent dissolve the accursed collar with great satisfaction.

The subtle pulse of magic had slowly crescendo as the alloy continued to break down. Even as he tried to siphon the magic away safely, he realised that it sought a more natural course, that was, returning to its source – Leto. Anders chose not to fight it. The flow of magic amplified, bathing both him and Leto in an ethereal glow; and when the collar eventually came free in Anders' hand, a blinding incandescence suffused the boy. Anders, and he suspected the others, too, had no choice but to avert their eyes.

When the luminescence faded, Anders turned back and saw the look of incredulity etched into Leto's face melted into one of joyous amazement.

Leto had a radiant smile.

As soon as Anders had thoroughly examined Leto – checking twice, thrice, that the removal of the collar had had no immediate adverse effect on the boy – Hawke declared it was cause for celebration and promptly dragged them to the Hanged Man. Once inside, the boy immediately became the centre of attention; he was quite embarrassed by it, especially with Isabela cooing over him, despite Fenris' efforts of rebuff her. 

After Anders had kindly rescued Leto from Isabela's clutches, he watched as the rest of the group descended into a rabble of drunkenness. Since he could not partake, he found amusement in the different kinds of drunk his friends could be. Hawke was a sentimental drunk, professing his undying love to anyone and anything within reach. Fenris was an angry drunk, which, in Anders' point of view, wasn't very different from when the elf was sober. Varric was an amused drunk, simply sitting in his chair, where he thoroughly enjoyed the mind-bending effects of alcohol whilst chuckling at everything, from the mundane to the hilarious. Isabela... well, she was just Isabela but just a little louder. Sometimes Anders wondered if she was ever sober, or ever truly drunk.

Eventually, the quartet had drank themselves to insensibility. Considering Fenris had already passed out under Varric's table, and Hawke was in no condition to help, Anders decided to leave them both right where they had fallen, but not without digging out two blankets from Varric's chest and throwing them over them. That taken care of, he, with Leto's assistance, first manhandled Varric into his own bed before depositing Isabela in hers.

"Wasn't that fun?" Anders asked Leto rhetorically. "Right, what do you want to do? Stay here or go to Hawke's? I don't think you should be alone in your father's mansion."

"Can I come with you?" Leto asked then hastily added, when Anders looked like he was going to object, "Just for tonight."

How could Anders possibly refuse that pleading look? "Alright, just for tonight."

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

****

X.

A sharp cry had Anders leaping out of bed, staff in hand. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and conjured some light. His eyes immediately fell on Leto who was sitting up in his cot, clutching his blanket breathlessly.

"Nightmares, Leto?" Anders asked, lowering himself onto the cot beside the boy.

"I, I think so," Leto replied shakily. "I never thought that it would be like this. The others said they dreamed about nicer things. There were creatures, I heard them. It was so real."

Anders placed his arm around the boy's shoulder. He asked gently, "Are you saying you've never been to the Fade before?"

"Should I have?" Leto asked nonplussed.

Anders hid his surprise. Of course; the collar had severed Leto's rapport to magic and no one would've told him about mages and their intimate connection to the Fade. It looked like his lessons in magic would have to begin sooner than Anders had anticipated.

"Every time you sleep."

"I am going to have nightmares every night?" Leto asked in dismay.

"I promise it'll get better once you understand it and learn to control your magic," Anders said encouragingly.

"Wait, isn't the Fade where demons live?"

"Yes, but you needn't fear it. All mages go to the Fade when they dream. However, only the weak and foolish ones consort with demons. You are strong and wise enough to resist them."

Leto nodded dubiously. "How do I resist them?"

"We each have our own way to fight. When I did my Harrowing —"

"What's that?"

Anders suppressed a sigh. "I see I'll have to start from the beginning." 

And he did. 

He told Leto of the Circle, but to his credit, he did gloss over the tiny detail of how he thought it was oppressive. Anders understood the need for an institute of learning for young mages. He also saw the use for a central repository of knowledge. What he did not approve of was how all mages were forced to submit to the Templars under false pretences. The Circle had become a prison. While being in the Circle may be convenient, what with the numerous books and tutors at hand, hedge apostates were known to often succeed in mastering magic outside of the Circle's influence. Hawke and, Maker forefend should he say this out loud, Merrill were two perfect examples; discounting the point where Merrill turned to blood magic, of course.

Anders recounted his experiences and misadventures to Leto. He could not recall ever speaking this freely to anyone of his days at the Circle. The boy was an attentive audience at first, occasionally questioning but mostly listening with rapt attention. 

Soon, however, his questions grew less and less frequent and his head began to loll, heavy with sleep. Anders smiled indulgently as he eased the boy down onto the cot. He brushed Leto's hair aside with the barest of touches and as he did that a crimson tendril curled delicately from his fingertip into Leto's temple.

At last, Anders extinguished his light and returned to his own bed.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

****

XI.

Anders was careful in choosing the rendezvous point. He was all too aware of the potential horrors that haunted the Fade on a regular basis. He had to make certain that this particular aspect of the Fade remained safe and isolated. With all the necessary protective wards in place, he made himself comfortable and waited for his guest to arrive.

As he waited, Anders took in the peace and quiet of his surroundings; but mostly he revelled in the silence of his own mind. While Justice gave him a purpose beyond his own selfish needs, he could not deny that Justice also complicated things as much as he simplified them.

When Anders was awake, Justice coloured his world with sharp, vibrant hues – passionate crimson, loyal ultramarine and exhilarating yellow. There was always an all-encompassing fervour coupled with a thrilling urgency buzzing in the back of Anders' mind, as if Justice still craved for new corporeal experiences despite having been with Anders for nearly seven years. And because they were so intimately entwined, Anders could not help but get caught up in the tide.

As Justice lay dormant while Anders traversed the Fade, Anders' thoughts were more sedate, awash in earthy tones; he was given a respite to enjoy the little trivial things, things that Justice had deemed a distraction to their cause or unworthy of their time. Most importantly there was a poignant clarity of his own sense of self; the ultimate 'me' time.

After several moments of blissful contemplation, the mist stirred. From the depths of the hazy swirl an orange cat emerged, closely followed by Leto. Leto looked startled to find Anders there waiting for him.

"Am I dreaming?" Leto asked tentatively.

Anders laughed. "Of course you are," he answered as he enthusiastically greeted the cat, which reciprocated his affections. Even though the cat was only a figment of Anders' imagination he was still happy to see Ser Pounce-a-lot.

Leto shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I mean, are you in my dream or did I just dream you up? Did that make sense?"

"Yes, that made sense, and I am real, in a manner of speaking but you are not in your dream anymore. I had Ser Pounce-a-lot bring you here."

"You did? Why? How? Do people share dreams all the time?" A flurry of questions spilled from the boy's lips.

Anders chuckled. "Hardly. Our dreams are naturally contained. It takes powerful magic to get into other people's dreams. However, the Fade has public spaces, for want of a better term, places that anyone dreaming could potentially access and connect with others. We are in such a place."

"So, do people often meet up in the Fade then?"

"Not often, no, but it can be handy sometimes." Anders cleared his throat lightly, looking a little sheepish. "The spell is something I learned during my misspent youth. It gained notoriety as a means to commit adultery."

"Adultery?" Leto said, pulling a face. "How?"

"Yes, well," Anders faltered a little, briefly questioning the wisdom of sharing details such as this, but it was too late; he could not unring that bell. Notwithstanding, the boy was sixteen; he was bound to know about the more saucy aspects of relationships. "Legend had it that a mage and a concubine to the Orlesian Emperor had fallen in love with each other. Naturally they could not be together. Thus the mage devised a spell that they could meet in the Fade when they slept."

"I see," Leto said, even though he did not seem to. Perhaps leading a sheltered life as a slave, he was not privy to said sauciness.

Upon realising that, Anders hastily added, "But it's just a legend, and that isn't the only use for the spell, of course. It can be used to communicate over long distances, even if it's a little unreliable."

"Oh, why did you bring me here then?" Leto sounded genuinely confused.

"Considering it's your first night in the Fade, I just thought you might like some company and I wanted to show you that it isn't filled with shadows and malice."

Leto smiled shyly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Anders returned the smile.

"How does the spell work?"

"Just as you fell asleep, I implanted in your subconscious a guide who could lead you to a specific part of the Fade."

"The cat?"

"Yes, Ser Pounce-a-lot." Anders stroked the cat. "If we're both asleep, I can call to him, and he'll lead you to where I am, if you choose to follow, that is."

"Where are we?"

"Nowhere in particular. The spirits borrow imagery from our emotions and our memories to construct the dreamscape."

"It's nice." Leto said. "I haven't been anywhere. Even in Seheron I was mostly confined to the alchemy lab at my mistress' mansion. I didn't see much on my journey to Kirkwall, either."

It was heartening to see Leto had shed his reservations in using his voice. Anders could not recall the boy ever speaking without being asked a question first. It was a good sign, Anders thought. Clearly, the boy's submissive behaviour was a result of conditioning and not something intrinsic. It would seem the boy took after his father in that aspect.

Leto continued, "I always wanted to see the beach and the mountains and the forests. I mean actually walk in the sand, climb the mountains and touch the trees; not just look at them from afar, you know?"

Anders nodded with an indulgent smile.

"Have you been to many places?"

"I've travelled a little." 

"Where are you from? Is any of this where you're from?" Leto suddenly blushed, as if realising for the first time he had been talking freely. "I'm sorry. It's not my place to ask."

"There's no need to apologise; if you don't ask, how will you learn?"

When Leto looked at Anders there were apprehension and hope in his eyes. Quietly, he asked, "Are you really going to teach me how to use magic?"

"Yes, I am. We can start right now if you wish."

"Here? We can do magic in the Fade?"

"All magic comes from the Fade. You can gain the knowledge and skills here, but you will still need practical experience in the corporeal world, because magic has a different feel there." Anders replied then teased, "Additionally, if you do set something on fire in the Fade, it won't be a problem at all."

Leto chuckled and Anders felt something squirm in his chest. It was the first time he had heard the boy laugh, or see such a genuine smile for that matter. Be it laugh or smile, they were both things of beauty.

For the first time since merging with Justice, Anders felt a focus, a goal that was truly his own. He knew he would not abandon his quest to aid the mages of Kirkwall. However, a small part of him would not consider it an utter failure if not all of them were liberated. As long as he managed to set Leto free, he could, at the very least, say he had accomplished something worthwhile.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

****

XII.

Anders had wondered what Hawke had said to convince the elf to allow Leto to learn magic from Anders. He'd been certain that the elf would ask Hawke to teach his son instead. Hawke had proven time and time again to be a powerful mage in full control of his magic and himself. Without the benefit of the Circle teaching or a Harrowing, he had flourished with no worry of becoming an abomination. It seemed logical to have a hedge mage tutor another.

However, given that Leto seemed uncomfortable in Hawke's presence, Anders wasn't surprised that Hawke had declined. Thus the responsibility had fallen upon Anders' shoulders to educate the boy; not that he minded at all.

Whenever Anders wasn't running around after Hawke, Leto would turn up for his lessons. Much to Anders' delight, Leto turned out to be a quick study. Even though they could not put all his lessons into practice, Leto was at least gaining a greater understanding of his gift. 

The one thing they could have practiced, however, was healing; alas, the boy lacked the penchant for it. He could certainly manage basic healing, but the diagnosis and treatment of the more complicated illnesses and injuries eluded him. Anders was somewhat saddened by not being able to pass on his chosen school of magic, but he did not show it for fear of discouraging the boy. Notwithstanding, Leto did show great promise. It would simply take a little more time for him to find his true calling.

When Leto wasn't studying, he would be brewing potions and poisons alike. Hawke was thrilled to discover the boy's extraordinary talent in alchemy and had practically inundated him with requests. Leto in return seemed pleased and eager to be of help. He also seemed the happiest working on his alchemy.

One afternoon, Hawke entered Anders' clinic with Isabela and Aveline flanking him. They were all dressed in full armour. Anders did not need to be asked; he simply pulled his own battle gear on.

Hawke was curiously tight-lipped about where they were going and what exactly needed killing; that was until Leto had been seen home safely. Rumour had it that a small band of Tevinter 'merchants' had holed themselves up in a warehouse. Varric's contacts had been observing them, but so far they had not conducted any real business since they docked.

~*~

_Deja vu,_ Anders thought. 

While Hawke and Aveline were to secure the front entrance, he and Isabela were to infiltrate the warehouse through the back. Anders had to wonder if it was coincidence or providence that had led him and Isabela were back in the same alleyway where they had first met Leto. Additionally, there were three guards by the door. If Anders wasn't certain he and Isabela had killed the three that had attacked Leto, he might've wondered if they were the same men. 

She gave Anders a quick nod, shifting into stealth even as she drew her blades. Anders gave her a few seconds before stepping into the mouth of the alleyway. If Hawke hadn't explicitly told them to be subtle, Anders would've called down a firestorm right there in that tiny alleyway and watched the enemy burn. 

As it were, Anders once again stopped the heart of one of the guards with a well-placed lightning bolt while Isabela dispatched the other two with her daggers.

Once Anders and Isabela had dragged the bodies out of sight, Isabela picked the lock with contemptible ease and they slipped into the warehouse. They were in a small antechamber lined with crates and barrels. The only source of light came from the hallway, spilling weakly through the archway. Isabela vanished once again, and Anders waited patiently for her to return.

She crept back into the antechamber, a few more spatters of blood streaking her face and chest. She gestured for Anders to be quiet and to follow her. He nodded and did as he was told. They came to a halt at another archway where Isabela directed him to stay low as they exited into the main floor of the warehouse. Someone had fortuitously erected stacks of crates all about the main floor, making it ridiculously easy for them to stay hidden. From the looks of it, there didn't seem to be many hunters in there.

A commotion sounded by the main entrance of the warehouse. In the usual Hawke fashion, he and Aveline had barged in, breaking everything breakable. When Anders and Isabela joined them they only found two startled hunters making a poor show of being merchants. One of them immediately fell to Hawke's devastating Force spells, the other was knocked off his feet by Aveline's Shield Bash.

Isabela looked down at the hunter who was sprawled, dazed, at her feet. "Mmm, I do love it when men fall at my feet," she quipped then promptly wedged her boot under the man's chin. With a predatory smile upon her face, she continued, "You, my dear, are going to tell us what we want to know." 

Before long, she had managed to charm information out of the man: it appeared that the rest of the hunters were cooling their heels in a hideout on Wounded Coast until they had ferreted out definitive information of Leto's whereabouts. 

It didn't take Anders and the others very long to decide to purge the Coast of these miscreants. They journeyed quickly, though upon arriving, they took a quick respite while Isabela ranged ahead to scout out the cave and clear the way of any traps that might have been laid. 

Anders took this opportunity to question Hawke. "How are Fenris and Leto doing?"

Hawke cast him a surprised look. "Leto doesn't talk to you about it?"

"No, he's never broached the subject, but I have noticed some days where he seemed reluctant to return home."

Shrugging, Hawke replied, "They have their issues and their arguments like most families do. They don't really know how to assume their respective roles, but they are working things out. The fact that Hightown still stands is a testament to their efforts."

Hawke laughed and continued, "Fenris may refuse to admit it, but it is uncanny how similar he and Leto can be. Both headstrong with a streak of iron determination. Leto is such a different person without the collar. It was a good thing you did for him, Anders. And Fenris knows it, even if he hasn't thanked you yet."

Anders smiled, acknowledging the second hand gratitude. 

Isabela returned shortly after that, citing that there were eight, maybe nine hunters camped; it would be a quick job to dispatch them. Aveline gave her a curt nod, secured the straps on her shield before marching right into the cave, as bold as day. Facing the hunters, she simply informed them that they were under arrest.

Most of them laughed, and one of them growled out a grievous insult to Aveline's parentage. Hawke winced visibly, ever indulgent of theatrics, before clicking his tongue and telling the hunter that it was possibly the most foolish thing he could've done, second only to taking the job of hunting one of the Champion's closest friends, of course. 

What followed this statement were more insults, some threats and a whole lot of fireballs. 

At Anders' ostentatious cue everyone commenced the fighting. The battle was brutal but swift, just as Isabela had predicted. Hawke actually seemed a trifle disappointed that he _barely broke out in a sweat,_ a comment which earned her Aveline's ire. 

Anders, however, scarcely paid any attention to her telling Hawke off about the latter's apparent bloodlust; instead he watched Isabela pilfer through the dead bodies with professional efficiency. No matter for how many years Anders had time and time again watched her or Varric do that, he still felt a little morbid about it.

Once Isabela seemed to deem her search thorough enough, she straightened up and stretched languidly. "Looks like there's a pretty nice bounty on the cub's head. More hunters will surely come," she finally said. She handed a parchment to Hawke and continued, "I wonder if Fenris fetched such a handsome reward."

Hawke glared at her.

"Just curiosity, love, I'd never turn him in, not even for all the dusty tomes in Par Vollen," she placated with a glint of amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"We'd better let Fenris know," Hawke said, still slightly miffed, then tucked the parchment into his vest before asking Isabela, "Are you done robbing the dead?"

"Yes, yes," she replied, then turned to Anders, giving him a mock sorrowful look and a sigh. "Sometimes, Anders, I wish you wouldn't burn them so badly. Charred trinkets are so much harder to sell."

~*~

They followed Hawke to Fenris' mansion, where they were surprised to be greeted by a screaming match between Fenris and Leto. They all just watched, stunned into silence and immobility. The fighting pair didn't seem to care about its audience – if it had even noticed it had one.

Leto shouted something in Tevene then continued in common, "You would colour all mages with the same brush simply because you suffered under the yoke of one. Look, Father!" Leto tore his tunic open, exposing the many scars that ringed his neck and Fenris' eyes appeared to be inevitably drawn to them.

"I have brands, too; brands that my mistress inflicted on me," Leto continued, his voice softer now. "And every time I use magic, I am still reminded of the pain of receiving them. But I refuse to hold on to the hate. I'm trying not to let it dictate how I live my life. If I do, no matter how far I run, I know I'll never be free." 

Leto turned and ran out. Fenris made a move to follow but Hawke laid a hand on his arm.

"Let him calm down," Hawke said to Fenris while surreptitiously casting a look at Anders. Hawke's eyes clearly suggested that Anders would be the best person to go after the boy.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

****

XIII.

Anders returned to his clinic, knowing very well Leto would seek refuge there. As expected, he found Leto huddled by the door, his knees drawn up to his chest, his head buried in his folded arms.

"Leto, are you alright?" Anders asked gently.

When the boy looked up it was obvious that he had been crying, but he quickly scrubbed his cheeks in a vain attempt to hide it.

"Can I stay?" he asked.

Anders smiled sympathetically and drew the boy up onto his feet. "Of course you can. Although why you prefer a grimy Darktown clinic to a dilapidated Hightown mansion is beyond me," Anders added to put some levity into the situation.

Leto frowned, and Anders could see the tightening of his jaw. Anders didn't need to hear the whole argument to know what it had been about. Leto and his father _alike_ could be obnoxiously stubborn about everything. He supposed the apple did not fall far from the tree. Anders chose not to pursue the matter. Quite honestly, it was none of his business.

"He hates me," Leto suddenly said as Anders laid a blanket out on one of the cots. His voice was full of bitterness and anguish. Anders' heart ached for him. While the boy had said nothing about it to Anders, it was clear to Anders how much it meant to him to gain Fenris' approval. The boy had travelled a long way to find his father.

Anders placed a soothing touch on Leto's shoulder. "I'm sure he doesn't hate you. Give him time, he'll--"

"Don't!" Leto hissed, shrugging off Anders' touch. He stood up and started pacing angrily. "Don't defend him! Everybody defends him. Please, not you, too! I know you don't like each other. So please don't lie to me."

"You're right. I apologise."

"I shouldn't have come to Kirkwall," Leto continued, furiously wiping away an unbidden tear that rolled down his cheek. "But there was no where else for me to go."

Anders sank down onto a cot and gestured for Leto to join him. It took a couple of moments longer for the boy to calm himself enough, but when he finally seated himself, Anders moved to give him a hug. Maker knew the boy needed some comfort and Anders was certain the elf really wasn't the touchy-feely type.

"If you hadn't come," Anders said lightly, "Then we wouldn't have met, and I would have been deprived of a very good apprentice to mould in my own image, deeply flawed and eccentric as it is."

Leto let out a watery laugh.

Anders smiled. "Feeling better?"

Leto nodded then turned his head to look up at Anders. There was trust in those deep green eyes, and something a bit more. Anders recognised it a little too late when Leto launched himself at Anders, their lips meeting in a crushing kiss.

Anders let out a muffled yelp. He leaned away, but Leto proved to be rather persistent. Anders was so very tempted to give in but alarm bells began to toll in his head; a dire warning which was accompanied by horrifying visions of what the bloody elf would do to him.

Anders took a firm but gentle hold on Leto's shoulders and eased him back. Leto whimpered in protest. He tried to kiss Anders again but this time Anders was prepared to evade Leto's advances by swiftly rising to his feet and fleeing to the opposite side of the room.

"Leto..." Anders said, "This isn't a good idea."

Confusion furrowed the boy's brows as he asked, "Why not?"

_Because your father will have my guts for garters and my heart for a paperweight,_ Anders thought.

Leto continued softly, "We like each other, don't we?"

"If only it were that simple," Anders replied with a sigh. "You're going through a lot of things – freedom, magic, a turbulent relationship with your father. Things must be confusing for you at the moment."

"Yes they are, but you are the one thing I'm certain about."

Anders' treacherous heart leapt at Leto's honest admission, and he could distinctly feel Justice's disapproval. Of course Anders was attracted to the boy – those beautiful, soulful eyes, the lithe, graceful physique and the quick, inquisitive mind – but Leto was so young.

Anders' starving libido was prompt to remind him that he had been no older than sixteen himself when he began seducing fellow apprentices and senior enchanters alike. No, this was different. Anders could clearly see the deference in the way Leto acted towards him. Subconsciously, Leto still thought of Anders as his master and it would be wrong of Anders to take advantage of that. However, that didn't mean Anders wasn't aroused.

Evidently, Leto wasn't going to give up easily. He crossed the room with determination and cornered Anders, who was somewhat surprised to see just how much Leto could resemble Fenris. Anders parted his lips to voice his protest again and Leto took the opportunity to steal another kiss.

Leto tasted good. It was so very wrong but, Maker forgive him, Anders wanted the boy. Anders bit back a groan as he held himself back from deepening the kiss. 

Unfortunately, what, in the back of his mind, he had feared would happen, did. He felt Justice attempt to wrest control from him. For a brief moment, the spirit succeeded, seizing the fleeting opportunity to repel Leto. Justice's determination to stop this shameful act of exploitation was hampered only by Anders' fear that the spirit would hurt the boy. What followed was a battle of wills, where each of Justice's attempt to cast a spell was quickly smothered by Anders' matching resolution, resulting in a startling detonation that forced Anders and Leto apart. 

Leto staggered backwards then toppled over, trembling and gasping for air. Anders managed to wrest control back and rushed to Leto's side, checking that the boy wasn't hurt and babbling his apology.

When Leto looked up, Anders expected to see fear and anger, even betrayal; he certainly had not anticipated his gaze to be met by one laden with wanton desire. Anders' breath caught in his throat, heart thumping wildly in his chest; he could not remember the last time someone had seemed to want him this badly. It was nearly his undoing.

Leto reached for Anders again; _Maker, the boy was relentless!_ He uttered an oath in Tevene; his voice thick with lust. 

"Stop it," Anders said as he held the boy away from himself. "I'm sorry I ... I lost my temper but I cannot promise that you wouldn't get hurt the next time."

"But –"

"It's probably not a good idea for you to spend the night here," Anders interrupted in a tone that brooked no argument. "There's an underground passage that leads to the cellar of Hawke's mansion. I'm sure he can put you up for the night if you don't want to return to your father's mansion."

It was then that Leto did look angry and betrayed, but Anders had to stand by his decision. After all, he was the responsible adult here. Justice certainly was. Moreover, Anders kept telling himself that Leto simply wanted some comfort and affection after the fight with his father and that the boy merely went about the inappropriate way to get it.

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

****

XIV.

It came as no surprise to Anders that after that night, Leto avoided him for the next few days. No doubt the boy was feeling a maelstrom of emotions, most, if not all of them, negative. Anders completely understood, recalling the first time he was rejected by an older mage in the Circle. The mage had been beautiful, popular and talented, and while Anders had known that she was a little arrogant and self-centred because of that, he'd still wanted her; most had.

The urge to slake the seemingly unquenchable carnal thirst was ever present in any sixteen-year-old boy. Naturally, they would leap at any opportunity given, even if it was ill-advised. And when no opportunity presented itself, they would feel the right to create one. 

Back then, Anders had begun to make a name for himself, having already made two successful escapes, albeit followed by subsequent recapture, from the Circle. It was this notoriety that bolstered his confidence in approaching Simone. However, she was less than impressed with his infamy, to say the least. He could remember the burning humiliation of her harsh rejection, made even worse by the fact that they weren't alone; Simone had always maintained a small collection of sycophants around her.

Anders also remembered the blossoming of a childish fear that he would never find companionship ever again. Of course, shortly after that, he had encountered another more kind and less pretentious, though no younger, mage on whom to lavish his attention. His first time was a memory he cherished. It was then that he was grateful that Simone had rejected him, grateful that he had not squandered his first experience on someone like her.

With that in mind, he was certain that his own rejection of Leto's advances was the right thing to do. He honestly did not believe he was the right person for the boy.

Anders decided not to pursue the matter with Leto, even if he had been tempted to summon Ser Pounce-a-lot in dream. He knew that he would be sending potentially mixed messages to the boy. While he genuinely wanted to retain some kind of relationship with Leto, he thought that it would be better to allow the matter to cool on its own accord.

When Anders next saw Leto, he pretended nothing had happened. It would be a shame for the boy to stop his studies because of a moment of indiscretion. Similarly, Leto seemed relieved that Anders made no show of what had transpired between them and they did not speak of it any further. Life, as it was, resumed without interruption. 

Anders was thankful for that; especially so when Hawke asked Leto to stay with Anders for a few days. Fenris did not want to leave Leto on his own while he and Hawke were chasing down another lead on the hunters.

One quiet day at the clinic during Leto's stay, most of which Anders had spent tutoring the boy, three men rushed in carrying a bloody fourth. Anders was on his feet in a flash directing the men to lay their friend on the nearest cot. He moved to place his hands on the chest of the injured man and immediately began casting. Within a second, he knew something was amiss.

He looked up at the group standing over him. While the men were dressed in nondescript clothing, Anders belatedly noted that they were far too well-armed for typical Darktown residents.

As if on cue, the men reached for their weapons and Anders responded immediately by firing off a Mind Blast. Hit first, ask questions later has always worked for him.

"Leto, run!" Anders shouted when the boy merely stood there motionless in surprise.

Luckily, Anders' cry tore Leto from daze and he pelted out of the clinic, Anders hot on his heels. Anders was certain those men were after the boy and not him. Templars were far too proud and arrogant to wear disguises when hunting apostates. If they weren't clanging and creaking in their emblazoned armour, they probably felt they weren't doing the Maker's work. Logic suggested those men were hunters. Anders had known this day would come. His first concern was to get Leto to safety, then the hunters could be dealt with – preferably with some back up.

They headed towards the stairs that led out of Darktown when a hunter quite literally jumped on Leto. The pair went tumbling down in a heap making it difficult for Anders to fight back without hitting Leto.

Fortunately, Leto was far from helpless. He kicked out hard and caught his attacker in the groin. The man curled up in pain, out for the count, but a second assailant materialised next to them right away and threw his weight upon Leto, attempting to subdue him. This time, Leto was quicker by placing his hand on the man's face and firing a Spirit Bolt at point blank range. The man clutched his face, shrieking and writhing in agony.

Anders rushed to haul Leto to his feet. The initial four hunters, who, by then, had regained their composure, caught up with Anders and Leto. Anders first cast a protective barrier around Leto before hurling a fireball at the hunters. Only two of them were set aflame; one had quite literally vanished before the fireball struck and the last one, though stumbling from the impact, had brushed off the attack, largely due to his apparently fire retardant armour and great fortitude.

The remaining visible hunter charged, swinging his two-handed axe, but was struck down with a well-aimed lightning bolt. Without pause, Anders began looking about frantically, desperately seeking any clues as to the whereabouts of the rogue in stealth. Before Anders could find him, however, the rogue materialised right behind Anders but was swiftly immobilised by a Paralyse spell that Leto had cast.

Anders and Leto didn't wait for any more attackers to suddenly appear. They turned and ran again.

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

****

XV.

Once they were out of Darktown, Anders pulled Leto to slow. The streets held only a handful of people who were concluding their businesses for day. While the dwindling crowd would hide them momentarily they had to keep moving; Maker knew how many more hunters there were.

"Who were those men?" Leto asked, breathing hard.

"Hunters." For a moment, Anders thought about hiding the truth from Leto, but it would do the boy no good to be coddled. "We should get you somewhere safe. The Hanged Man is the closest."

They meandered their way through Lowtown, occasionally ducking away from suspicious looking people. While the initial four assailants had had disguises, the others weren't so discrete for they wore typical Tevinter armour.

They were just around the corner from the Hanged Man when Anders noticed a group of Templars had gathered on the street. He cursed silently, clamping down on his hold over Justice. The last thing they needed was Justice running rampant on a pack of Templars in plain sight. Anders was relieved to find that safeguarding Leto was also Justice's primary concern, for now.

The only reason Templars were ever in Lowtown were to hunt apostates. Anders was certain they weren't there for him; being the Champion's companion had awarded him some degree of amnesty, provided he toed the line. Notwithstanding, given the current turbulent relationship between Templars and mages, he wouldn't put it past the Templars to arrest _any_ mage just for kicks.

Pausing in an alleyway to decide what to do next, Anders suddenly felt lassitude descend upon him. Additionally, the dull throb that had resonated throughout his body now coalesced into a sharp pain at his side. With the rush of adrenaline fading, Anders became keenly aware of the wound he had sustained. As fast as Leto had been to neutralise the threat, the rogue hunter had been faster. At least the wound didn't feel mortal, assuming of course he wouldn't bleed to death. Pressing his fingers gingerly on the wound, he did his best to staunch the bleeding. It would have to do for now; as he had no lyrium potions on him, he was reluctant to squander what remaining mana he had.

"You're hurt!" Leto hissed when he realised what Anders was doing.

Anders put on his brave face and said, "Just a flesh wound, don't worry," and was surprised at how convincing he sounded. "Let's not chance the Templars, we'll go round the back."

With the sun setting, the residents were swiftly abandoning the streets as long shadows began to creep over them. While the cover of darkness was good for them, Anders was also aware that it hid any potential hunters. An uneasy sense of apprehension bloomed in his chest. It was a rare moment where he was responsible for protecting someone.

Sure, as a Grey Warden running after a commander with a hero complex, he had been charged with safeguarding civilians numerous times. Additionally, as a member of the Mage Underground, he had tasked himself with ensuring the safety of his fellow apostates. Notwithstanding, they were merely groups of nameless, faceless people and he protected them out of a sense of duty. There was never any kind of personal attachment for him, certainly not to an individual whom he cared for a great deal.

Anders reached out and clasped Leto's hand firmly, the physical contact somehow making him feel better. They were nearly at the Hanged Man, where help was at hand; all they had to do was go a further hundred paces.

The hunters came in a rush of hasty footsteps and singing blades. Shrugging aside the weariness that threatened to consume him, Anders was battle-ready in seconds. With his left hand, he tightened his grip on Leto, with his right, he pulled the very warmth from his surroundings, freezing the air and his foes alike. 

Anders exhaled laboriously; his breath misting in the unnaturally cold air. He must be more grievously injured than he thought; his spellcasting normally did not take such a great toll on his strength and mana. Belatedly, he could detect a familiar metallic and bitter tang of the Magebane poison at the back of his throat. Evidently, the rogue who had stabbed him came prepared. 

A glint of moonlight reflecting off a blade caught Anders' attention. He spun to face the assailant only to see the man being thrown across the street, hitting a wall with a crunch. Fragments of rock littered the ground, evidence of the Stonefist spell Leto had cast. He gave Leto a grateful smile and nodded his approval, proud that his apprentice had been successful in putting his lessons into practical use.

They did not linger, moving swiftly towards the tavern again. Fifty paces more; Anders prayed Isabela and Varric weren't too drunk to help.

The faint tingling on Anders' skin was all the warning that he had. He shoved Leto away and just managed to shout, "Run!" before he was caught in the agonising grip of a Crushing Prison.

What transpired in the next few moments seemed to span an eternity for Anders. Through the haze of excruciating pain, he watched helplessly as a hunter charged at Leto, bringing down a cudgel heavily upon the boy. Anders wondered if the agony had befuddled his vision but he thought he saw Leto shimmer, just for a moment, making the cudgel miss its intended target.

The warrior seemed as surprised as Anders, hesitating in his confusion. Leto took the opportunity to electrocute the warrior, who staggered but was not incapacitated. Without pause Leto then dived to snatch up Anders' staff to parry an incoming attack from the hunter again. While Leto did wield the weapon with a small measure of natural talent, it was evident that Leto would be no match for a trained melee fighter. Thus, the boy stunned his opponent with a Mind Blast and swiftly followed up the attack with a Spirit Bolt, again at point blank range.

As spots began to creep into Anders' vision, he saw a mage gliding out from the darkness to approach Leto. Leto turned to her and raised his hand. She made no move to defend herself; instead she uttered a single word in Tevene. To Anders' horror, Leto just stopped. The boy straightened himself and stood stock still, letting the staff fall from his loosened grip. He stared vapidly at the mage, all thought and free will seemingly snatched away by that one word.

Both Anders and Justice raged against the spell futilely, their efforts greatly hindered by the limitations of Anders' injured body. 

The mage cast a smug look over her shoulder at Anders. She crooked her finger at Leto and he approached her obediently; together, they melted into the shadows, confident that Anders was in no shape to give chase.

The prison finally collapsed, all but a moment too late. Leto had been spirited away. Even if Fenris did not eviscerate Anders for losing his son, Anders would never forgive himself.

With his last ounce of strength, Anders pulled himself up and staggered to the Hanged Man. Someone had to be told. Someone had to give chase.

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

****

XVI.

Anders woke with a start. A firm hand pressed against his chest, forcing him to lie down again.

"I will be very put out if you undo all the meticulous healing I've just cast on you," Hawke chided him.

"We don't have time to lie around and wait." Anders rose to his feet, but they gave out on him.

"Sit!" Hawke scolded again, his steady grip kept Anders from falling flat on the ground. He manhandled Anders back into the bed. "Maker, you were halfway to the Void when you got to the Hanged Man. At least, give your body a chance to recover from the shock."

"There isn't time, Hawke."

"Andraste's frigid tits, healers _are_ the worst patients!"

"Hawke!"

"Stop wearing out my name. The others are already looking."

"He's under the thrall of blood magic. The mage cowed him with just one word. If only I –" Anders stopped and lowered his throbbing head into his hands.

"Anders, stop fretting. We'll find him." Hawke then said somewhat gently. "And it's not your fault."

At that proclamation, Anders snorted derisively. "We were ten blighted paces from the Hanged Man, Hawke. And I'm a Harrowed mage and a Grey Warden; I've thwarted Templar hunts and survived darkspawn sieges, but when it mattered the most, I let a bunch of flaming hunters beat me. _You_ wouldn't have been so easily bested."

"Well, we can't all be invincible," Hawke replied egotistically.

"Thanks, I feel much better." Anders shot Hawke what he hoped was a murderous glare; given his current state, he couldn't say for sure.

"Self-pity does not become you, Anders. Here, drink this." Hawke gave him a vial of restoration potion. "We'll join in the search as soon as you can stand unaided."

"Is Fenris ready to murder me?" Anders asked as he gulped the potion down feeling his strength return.

"When isn't he ready to do that?"

"You're deflecting." Anders grimaced. "I would appreciate some warning as to whether I should expect to be handed my own beating heart."

"Don't be so melodramatic. Fenris blames himself more than you."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Fine then, perhaps he blames you just as much as he blames himself," Hawke conceded as he handed Anders his staff. "But it's all moot. Laying blame will not get Leto back. You both can shout at each other and glow all you want after the boy's safe, alright?"

Anders merely grunted his assent. Hawke was right; they should be worrying about getting Leto back above all.

They had barely made it out of the Hanged Man when a longshoreman came running up to them. He handed a scrap of paper over to Hawke then waited for him to read it.

"Found him, come to the docks, now. I," Hawke read it out loud for Anders' benefit then turned to the longshoreman and asked, "You know where Isabela is?"

"Yes, messere, I'm to take you there."

Hawke nodded curtly and he and Anders hurried after the longshoreman, who led them to the Antivan quarter of the docks. Anders spotted Fenris first, on the account that he was flickering with deadly intent, pacing up and down the width of the dock. Isabela was sat upon a crate, her legs crossed primly, as she toyed with one of her daggers. A man was sprawled upon the floor, his blood darkening the weather-beaten planks. Anders could only assume the poor sod did not survive the interrogation.

The moment Anders drew nearer, Fenris was upon him. Anders, feeling the attack was wholly justified, did nothing to defend himself. Justice, however, did not feel the same and immediately assumed control. Hawke managed to sandwich himself between them, which was probably the only reason why Fenris and Justice didn't kill each other. 

_"Calm down."_ Hawke said in a voice that brooked no argument. "You can have a go at each other later."

Justice relinquished control to Anders while Fenris stepped back, muttering Tevinter curses under his breath. Hawke moved to his side instantly and whispered something to him. The tension in Fenris' shoulders seemed to dissipate. The elf wore a look of worry never seen before on him.

Once Hawke seemed certain that Fenris had calmed down, albeit only a little, he turned to Isabela questioningly.

Isabela hopped down from the crate and kicked the man on the floor. "Barely an hour ago, an Antivan spice merchant sailed out of the docks as if a leviathan was in pursuit.

"Gordon here has been keeping the port authority befuddled so that the galleon would not be searched from stem to stern. He even saw a group of hunters and a young elven boy matching Leto's description board it. Naturally, he received his thirty pieces of silver to hold his tongue. Of course, he now knows better than to keep secrets from Captain Isabela."

"What now?" Hawke asked.

Isabela smirked wickedly. "What else? We go after the bastards and watch with glee as Fenris rips their hearts out."

* * *


	17. Chapter 17

****

XVII.

Once aboard Isabela's ship, Anders got to see a side of her he had never seen before. She had always presented herself as easy-going, even indolent at times. While Anders would never think of her as slothful, she did have the tendency of doing things with the least effort possible. On the other hand, one could argue that her appearance of indolence was in truth a natural flair of making everything she did look easy. After all, her lack of figurative heavy lifting did not diminish the results of her endeavours.

Watching her boss around a bunch of fierce and evil-looking buccaneers with an equal measure of insults and commands was a sight to behold. What was even more impressive was that the men were obeying her every word, each one of them scrambling to carry out her orders without challenge.

Isabela had hustled as many of her crew as she could and they had set sail immediately. She did not want to waste time tracking down the rest of them who were on shore leave. 

Once they had cleared the harbour, Isabela gathered Hawke, Anders and Fenris at the captain's wheel.

"I haven't got a full crew," she had said them, "Better find your sea legs, ladies, I will need you on deck when we get into a fight."

"What?" Hawke exclaimed, "Naval battles aren't my forte."

Isabela smiled winsomely at him. "Just do as I say and you'll be just fine. You don't have a problem taking orders from a woman, do you?"

"Will you throw me overboard if I say yes?"

Isabela laughed. "No, sweet thing, I don't like wasting such a gorgeous crew-mate; the open sea can be a lonely place, you know?"

Fenris let out an impatient sound and stalked off towards the prow of the ship.

"Oh, dear. He really is the jealous type, isn't he?" Isabela mused.

"How soon will we catch up to them?" Hawke asked tersely.

Isabela looked towards the horizon, studying it, as if it spoke to her in words that Anders could not hear.

"We'll catch up when we catch up. Antivan galleons aren't known for their speed. Don't worry, we'll get them sooner rather than later."

Hawke nodded briefly then he, too, descended the quarterdeck to join Fenris. Both Anders and Isabela watched the lovers from their vantage point. Fenris' rigid posture visibly relaxed as Hawke spoke to him. Anders could see how much Hawke ached to embrace the elf, but he held himself back. Anders knew, from the many times he had healed Fenris, that the elf did not like to be touched. Anders had always attributed it to the hatred that the elf had for him. He had not realised that, apparently, the aversion was universal.

It was remarkable how Hawke seemed to manage to restrain himself. Hawke, who was quite the tactile person, would unthinkingly slap Varric on the back for a job well done, or give Isabela a peck on the cheek as a greeting, even throw him arms around Anders' shoulders when they were sharing amusing anecdotes at the Hanged Man. Yet now, standing beside the man he loved, Hawke maintained a polite distance, only reaching out occasionally to touch the elf lightly and withdrawing just as quickly. Even so, Fenris did not recoil from the subtle overtures. In fact, Anders could see how the elf subconsciously leaned into each one of Hawke's advances.

"It looks like they are courting," Isabela said breaking their silent observation. "I don't know if that's sweet or frustrating. I hope they aren't like that in private. It's clear they care deeply for each other. How they manage to keep their hands off each other is a wonder."

Anders chose not to answer.

Isabela turned to scrutinise him. "You look rough," she delivered her assessment after a few moments. "Get some food and rest; anyone can direct you to the galley and a free cabin. I need you in top form when we catch up to them."

Anders contemplated briefly on protesting but decided not to. Not only was this Isabela's ship, Anders _did_ feel a little rough. Healing and restoration potions aside, nothing could beat a few good hours of sleep to recover and regenerate.

~*~

Once he had set foot in the Fade, Anders wasted no time in sending Ser Pounce-a-lot out. The spell was not guaranteed to work every time. After all, no one, not even mages, were always in control of what they dreamt about. He could only wait in restless apprehension, hoping beyond hope that Leto was asleep, that somehow Ser Pounce-a-lot was able to fetch him, and even more so, that in his enthralment, the boy would still be able to respond.

Anders' surroundings matched his dark mood. The mist, ever present in the Fade, churned around him, taking on sinister and malevolent shapes. He was ready to blast them away, as futile as the action was, when he saw the familiar orange cat emerge from it.

Anders rushed up to Leto and caught him in a crushing embrace, muttering his apology incessantly.

"Are you alright?" Anders eventually asked, taking a step back to visually examine the boy, "Did they hurt you?"

"I am alright," Leto replied, his voice sounding a little emotionless. "The mistress did not hurt me."

Anders winced at the M-word. "You don't have a mistress, Leto. You're free, remember? You escaped, and we destroyed your collar. You helped me do that."

"Yes, the collar." He raised his hand subconsciously to touch his neck, even though no collar was present in the Fade. "She wasn't pleased about slaves not being collared, so she gave me a new one."

Anders felt a stab of fear at that admission. Anders knew it could not have been a Thalsian collar if Leto was in the Fade. Notwithstanding, it was the symbolism that was more profound than the actual collar itself. He simply had to get Leto to fight his renewed subjugation. 

"Leto, you remember me, right?"

The boy nodded.

"And you remember finding your father?"

Leto nodded again. Anders wanted to scream in frustration; Leto's demeanour was not unlike the Tranquil. It made his blood run cold. 

"Do you remember a week ago you and your father had a big fight?" He asked and was once again answered only by a nod. Although, Leto did hesitate for a moment, as if he was actually recalling the emotions of the incident and not just its occurrence.

"And then you came to me looking for comfort and reassurance and I denied you, believing that you acted rashly. I implied that I did not care for you in such a manner, but I was wrong." Anders pulled Leto into another embrace. "I was wrong."

Anders cupped Leto's chin and dipped his head to kiss the boy. Feeling quite hesitant, his touch was feather-light, barely grazing Leto's lips. Anders was fully aware of the implications of his actions. Was it right for him to mislead the boy in this manner? Yet, with each passing heartbeat, Anders could feel the swell of affection he felt for Leto. With each passing heartbeat, Anders realised that the doubt, the most strenuous of objections came not from his conscience but from Justice.

Shedding his reservations, Anders pressed his lips firmly against the boy's, conveying all the reassurances and affection he could manage in that one kiss. While Leto did not kiss Anders back, he did shift his weight ever so slightly into it.

Anders pulled back, only a little, and rested his forehead against Leto's to whisper, "We are coming for you, Leto. Stay strong and fight! Fight for what you desire, fight for what you believe in; they will not have you again. You are, after all, your father's son. Remember that."

The difference was minute but Leto did set his jaw and straighten his back. His confidence was seemingly bolstered by the kiss and Anders' words. When he dared to look Anders in the eyes, there was a faint glimmer of hope in them. 

Leto inclined his head a fraction and said, "It shall be as you say."

~*~ 

Anders woke to Fenris shaking him and he was less than thrilled with the unmanly squeak he made. The elf's piercing green eyes bore right through him and he was convinced that Fenris somehow knew he had been dreaming of, not to mention kissing, the other man's son. 

What was even more unnerving was that Leto had inherited his father's eyes. They might as well have been the same pair. However, when Leto looked at Anders, those eyes were friendlier and more trusting. When it was Fenris looking, they were generally filled with hostility and scorn instead.

Yet as Fenris continued to hold Anders' gaze, there was something else there this time. Something that almost seemed like gratitude, but Anders dismissed the notion as utterly ludicrous.

"We've nearly caught up," Fenris said gruffly, eventually turning away from Anders.

"Right," Anders replied, wondering why of all people it was Fenris who had come to awaken him. Did the others not fear the elf would smother Anders in his sleep?

"I... I want to apologise," Fenris said without looking at Anders. "I reacted badly earlier; it was no fault of yours. We knew that this was coming and should've been better prepared."

"The apology is unnecessary. I should've done better. You entrusted your child's safety to me and I failed."

Fenris shook his head lightly. "Hawke said you were wounded, poisoned even."

"That's no excuse. I've been hurt worse and still managed to hold my own."

"Maker almighty," Hawke interrupted suddenly from somewhere behind the elf, "It's one extreme to another with you two. Well, I guess it's better than having you repaint the walls with blood. C'mon, let's get on deck."

* * *


	18. Chapter 18

****

XVIII.

The sea was restless that night – its waves dashed angrily against the hull of the two-mast brigantine. Thick clouds had rolled in over the sky and with them came the late autumn storm. The freezing rains bit into skin as a cat-o-nine tails would while the wind bellowed and boomed frenetically.

A blanket of darkness shrouded the ship – all the lights on deck had been extinguished – as they skimmed each swell of the waves effortlessly and allowed the wind to carry them towards the winking beacons of the Antivan galleon. The usual cacophonous banter of the crew was hushed; even the creak of the ropes sounded muffled. It was as if Isabella had somehow channelled to the entire ship her uncanny ability to stealth.

Fortune favoured them, Isabela had said when Anders, Fenris and Hawke had emerged from the forecastle. It seemed that the lily-livered captain of the galleon had decided to err on the side of caution by dropping his main sails. Isabela had no such reservations and their ship had swiftly caught up. 

With the ship's lights doused and the squall shrieking, the galleon would unlikely realise their approach until it was too late. Isabela's strategy was not to have a long and drawn out battle with cannons, for it was clear that the galleon out-gunned them. She would use the element of surprise to sneak up on them and board the vessel as quickly as possible to subdue to the crew. The composed and efficient demeanour of the crew while executing their Captain's plan implied that this would not be the first time they did this. 

"No fireballs," she had told Anders firmly. "Not unless you want to swim back to Kirkwall."

There was a taut anticipation in the air, so palpable Anders could taste it. He was stood at the quarterdeck, gripping the railing hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The sharp cry of alarm from the other ship told them they had been spotted. There was a clamour aboard the galleon as her crew were roused and readied for battle. As predicted the cannons were rolled out. 

That was Anders' cue to act. 

Anders unclenched his asserted dominance and allowed Justice to bubble to the surface, and the spirit suffuse him with renewed vigour. It was during these rare times that they were truly one – working in tandem instead of against each other. This temperate synchrony to their coexistence was how Anders had imagined that he and Justice would be. This was how it _should_ be; not fighting for control whenever they disagreed on something.

He raised his hand and drew upon the combined power of their will. For several heartbeats, nothing seemed to happen, then delicate tendrils of crystalline white appeared upon the hull of the galleon, swiftly spreading and thickening to encase the entire starboard side of the galleon – hull, cannons, crew and all – in ice.

A stunned silence followed as the crew of both the Siren and the galleon stood dumbstruck to stare at the listing, half frozen ship. Isabela was first to recover, threatening her men with bodily harm if they didn't stop gawking and start boarding. Fierce battle cries erupted as the buccaneers on deck threw grappling hooks and extended gangplanks while those hanging off the ratlines swung over to the galleon to commence their raid.

Anders took a moment to catch his breath and marvel at his own handiwork; even with the aid of the chilly rain and icy winds, he would never have imagined that he was capable of freezing half a ship! He had to admit this was the kind of ego-boost he needed after his crushing defeat at the hands of a few blighted hunters. This would be the perfect time to exact his vengeance. Justice agreed wholeheartedly.

The battle was fast-paced and visceral, washing the deck with blood, guts and gore. Anders and his companions gave no quarter to the hunters; but it was Fenris who swept through the deck like a devastating hurricane, leaving none that crossed his path alive.

Even when the two blood mages emerged to join the fray, taking blood sacrifices from the freshly slain to summon creatures from beyond the Veil, the tide of the battle did not turn. With a rallying cry, Fenris, flanked by Anders, surged to engage the mages. One fell to Fenris' unerring blade, the other to the Anders' barrage of spells and ultimately Crushing Prison. Call it petty, but Anders did feel a burgeoning satisfaction in exacting his revenge.

A third mage emerged from the forecastle, spurring Fenris on once more but something stayed his hand. In that moment of hesitation, Fenris was hurled backwards by a Stonefist spell. Anders felt his heart plummet – it was not the mage who had attacked Fenris, it was Leto.

A dagger in his hand, his eyes burning with a murderous intent, Leto charged at Fenris. Fenris, whom Anders knew had gotten up from worst attacks, just sat and stared in disbelief; it was almost as if he had been stunned. 

Anders moved to respond by parrying Leto's attack. Fearing that Leto would cause more harm to himself than anyone else, Anders confined him in a Paralyse spell. Shockingly, the boy broke the spell quickly, his own power augmented by the blood magic that had him enthralled.

"Kill the blood mage!" Anders shouted at Fenris, blocking another attack from Leto.

Fortunately, Fenris snapped out of his stupor and returned to the fray. Anders knew Fenris would not disappoint, certain that killing mages was the elf's favourite past time.

"Leto!" Anders cried, trying to make himself heard above the roaring squall and battle sounds, even as knocked the dagger out of the boy's hand. "Leto, fight it! Remember what I said!"

Leto snarled at Anders, backing himself up against a mast, his hand raised, but no retaliation spell came. His gaze darted between Anders and Fenris, who was still battling the blood mage. There was recognition deep within his eyes, as he struggled to overcome the thrall.

Just when Anders was certain Leto would break free, several things happened in quick succession. Out of nowhere, a stray bolt whistled past Anders' ear, flying directly towards Leto's chest. Lightning raced across the twilight sky, making Leto look ethereal and Anders could clearly see the startled look on the boy's face. Even though thunder boomed overhead, the dull thunk of the bolt embedding itself in the mast was deafening to Anders' ears. Leto's eyes rolled back and he crumpled into a heap.

* * *


	19. Chapter 19

****

XIX.

The spurt of blood across his cheek was hot compared to the spatter of cold rain. Fenris sneered at the blood mage as she lay in a broken heap, gurgling and gasping for air. Soon enough she stopped twitching, her eyes turning glassy and distant. With her death, Leto would be free of her hold.

Fenris turned in time to see his son collapsing by the foot of the mast. Anders flew to Leto's side, his hands already bright with the tell-tale shimmer of healing magic. Fenris rushed to them but he did not interrupt the mage with his inane questions. The mage seemed to be searching for something, his hand running frantically over Leto's chest. When it was apparent that he found nothing, he looked over to Fenris in utter confusion.

"What?" Fenris demanded a little more brusquely than he intended.

"There's no blood, there isn't even a wound," the mage replied in a tone that implied it was some kind of miracle.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

The mage shook his head and muttered _'never mind.'_ Turning his attention back to Leto, his hands glowed once more. Dimly, Fenris noticed Hawke and Isabela joining them; evidently the battle was over.

"He's not injured," the mage eventually said as he sat back on his heels, "Exhausted and completely drained of mana, but physically unharmed. Best thing we can do is to let him get some rest."

"Good, I'd hate to have to keep pounding on these degenerates," Isabela said, sheathing her daggers. "Fenris, get him back to the Siren. Anders, tend to the wounded. Talk to my bosun if you need supplies. Hawke, let's go see what bountiful treasure this galleon has to offer."

It was strange, to say the least, taking orders from someone other than Hawke; however, Hawke seemed to revel in childish delight that he wasn't wearing the mantle of leadership for a change. 

Fenris gathered Leto in his arms and made his way back onto the Siren. 

In the ruddy light of the cabin, Leto looked pale and fragile. Fenris had never felt this level of trepidation before and it was making him irritable and restless. Despite killing the blood mage who had taken his son, his anger would not be soothed. Taking a deep breath, Fenris forced himself to calm. Nothing good would come of his temper tantrum.

As he sat and watched his son sleep, Fenris dared to admit to himself that he cared deeply for the boy. It was a strange sensation. Before he came to Kirkwall he made it a point not to have any personal attachments to anyone. He did not dare trust anyone, not with his life certainly not with his emotions. At that time, Fenris knew nothing beyond the desire for freedom, he could not see past that to allow for anything else in his heart. Even when Hawke had started shamelessly flirting with him, he had not taken the other man seriously. After all, Fenris had been a constant witness to Hawke and Isabela's endless exchange of innuendo and coquetry. 

Fenris' stubborn denial of his own attraction aside, he had begun to warm up to Hawke's advances; daring to open up his heart to the possibility of companionship, and, Maker forefend, love. Still, it had taken him six long years to fully come to terms with the notion of sharing his life with another. If nothing else, Fenris was grateful for Hawke's patience and understanding. He couldn't help but wonder if he would have been magnanimous enough to wait if the roles were reversed. He doubted it, and it was that doubt that still haunted him, making him feel somewhat undeserving of Hawke's commitment.

Not long after he had tentatively reconciled with Hawke, Leto stumbled into his life. After his sister's betrayal, Fenris was understandably wary of another alleged family member turning up to find him. While certain memories of his past had returned, Fenris could not remember the boy, nor his mother, thus making Fenris doubt Leto's claim to be his son. That and the fact that he couldn't fathom why his former master, Danarius, would allow him to father a child whom he, Danarius, had not claim for his own.

Despite his misgivings, Fenris had chosen not cast Leto aside. The boy was alone in Kirkwall, having just fled from his mistress, seeking freedom and a new life– his story bore great parallels to Fenris' own. If nothing else, they were kindred spirits, and that was why Fenris was willing to help the boy find his way. 

The problem with that was Leto came looking for a father, not a friend, and Fenris didn't know how to deal with being a father, let alone, a father to a sixteen-year-old mage. That had been a point of great contention between them.

Fenris sighed, sinking deeper into his melancholy. Since meeting Hawke, he had been in constant company of mages. While he personally disapproved of the choices that the abomination and the witch had made, he could not deny that they were more often than not willing to go out of their way to help others – no rewards required, no thanks expected. Then there was Hawke, of course, an avatar of compassion and honour, held in the city's highest regard despite being an apostate. Time and time again, these three have shown Fenris that magic was only as good or as evil as the one who wielded it.

He just wished that he would overcome his knee-jerk reaction to all things magical. After all, against all odds, he had spent a better part of six years being in love with a mage. 

A gentle knock stirred Fenris from his thoughts, but before Fenris could answer Hawke poked his head into the cabin. Fenris smiled, well, speak of the devil. Hawke, dripping like a down spout, entered and promptly gave Fenris a lingering kiss, albeit a wet one.

"How are you doing?" Hawke asked, gently brushing Fenris' hair out of his eyes.

"Fine. Have you and Isabela picked the galleon clean?"

Hawke chuckled softly and moved to straddle Fenris' lap, surprising the latter. Hawke had always respected Fenris' personal space whenever they weren't alone. Apparently, he did not consider a slumbering boy company.

Grinning, Hawke replied, "You wouldn't believe the spice merchant really did have spices, rare and exotic ones at that. Isabela is pleased, they'll fetch a good price she said. I also found this." He produced an amulet with a flourish. The gem, set in a silver, twinkled green in the lamp light. Embedded deep in its core was a sliver of something pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. Fenris could sense that it was lyrium when he touched it.

"You don't think I have enough lyrium?" he asked amusedly, making his brands shimmer faintly.

"It's not for you. I've already have you eating out of the palm of my hand, I don't need to lavish you with gifts you anymore."

Fenris clicked his tongue in feigned annoyance. "Careful, Champion, or I'm liable to get jealous."

"Of your own son?" Hawke asked, laughter in his voice, "This is for him."

"Why?"

"Bribery."

"Hawke..."

"Don't worry about it, love." Hawke patted Fenris' cheek placatingly. "It's a mage thing."

The sheets rustled as Leto shifted in his sleep, drawing their attention. Hawke rose from his perch to check on the boy. "You might want to ask Anders to keep an eye on him."

"Why?" Fenris asked, somewhat alarmed, straightening in his seat. Had the mage missed something?

"It's just a precaution. You can never predict the side effects blood magic can cause."

Fenris scowled, not liking the notion that there may be unpredicted side effects to Leto's enthralment. Hawke immediately misinterpreted his reaction, not that Fenris blamed him for it. There was no love lost between Fenris and the mage. 

"Don't be like that," Hawke said, his voice chiding, "You won't want to have to leave Leto's side to fetch Anders if you find out later you need his help. Besides, you know he and Leto are close, I'm sure the boy would appreciate Anders being there."

Hawke was correct, of course. The mage must possess some good qualities considering the others had befriended him. Aside from the demon residing in his head and his incessant, sanctimonious prattle about mage freedom, the mage wasn't really a bad person, Fenris grudgingly admitted to himself. It was most unfortunate that those two characteristics were most prominent in the mage. Or perhaps those were the characteristics that Fenris have chosen to focus on. Hawke and the others certainly saw past them. 

If Fenris really thought about it, he was the one who started it. He had instantly disliked the mage when they had met simply because he was a mage. Notwithstanding, the mage's sarcastic wit and infuriating stubbornness had not endeared him to Fenris. In the beginning, they needled each other because they each felt the need to make the other accede to his own point of view. Later, they rattled each other's cages because they didn't know how not to. Evidently, it never occurred to either of them that they could have a different kind of relationship. At least, not till now; not till they had found something in common – Leto. Perhaps Hawke was right, it was time to bury the hatchet, for Leto's sake if nothing else.

Eventually, Fenris grunted his assent.

"See? Eating out of the palm of my hand." Hawke smirked, kissing him soundly again.

* * *


	20. Chapter 20

****

XX.

There was something different about Fenris' mansion, Anders decided. It took him several minutes to realise that it had been made somewhat _habitable._ What little furniture there was had been straightened and dusted. The floor had been cleaned and the blood-stained rugs disposed of. What remaining windows had been wiped and were now letting a healthy amount of natural light in, while the broken panes had been boarded up. The stink of decay, though still present, was slowly dissipating.

Instead of heading up the grand staircase in the foyer, Anders followed the elf to a part of the mansion he had never been before.The mansion seemed bigger than Anders originally thought. They wended their way down long corridors, which were a little dark and dank, but Anders noticed that there was an absence of the musty, damp smell that was prevalent in the main halls.

They came to a comfortably large room with a low ceiling. It did not bear ostentatious panelling upon the walls, neither was the floor lined with marble. It was of a simple build of stone and plaster. Two long benches and a table stood in the centre while a handful of chairs were scattered around in front of the hearth, which spanned nearly the entire wall.

Anders may not have had the pleasure to grace many Hightown mansions but it was obvious that this humble construction was the servants' wing, which was in much better state than the mansion proper. Of course, unlike the mansion proper, the servants' wing had not sustain battle wounds nor had it been turned into a fertile breeding ground for various spores, moulds and fungus for the past six years.

They continued on to the door at the other end of the room to another hallway and straight into the living quarters. As they passed one of the rooms, Anders could not help but peek into it surreptitiously. There was evidence that someone was living in there and judging from the rack of two-handed swords standing in the corner, it was Fenris. 

Fenris shouldered open the door opposite his and Anders assumed it was Leto's. The room was large and sparsely furnished but there were some personal touches to it. There was a brightly quilted blanket and several plump pillows in the bed. On the other side of the room stood a desk that held neat stacks of books, parchments and scrolls.

Anders pulled the quilt back then stepped aside to make room for Fenris to lay Leto on the bed. With a tenderness that Anders had not witness in the elf before, Fenris brushed the hair out of Leto's face. Leto stirred but Fenris whispered something to him, perhaps some reassurance that he was safe, and the boy stilled. Fenris pulled the quilt up to Leto's chin and gestured for Anders to follow him.

They headed towards the servants' kitchen and Anders was even more surprised. The room was actually homely. The surfaces and floors had been scrubbed. Several shiny copper pots hung by the cavernous hearth. Firewood was neatly stacked next to it. Sunlight, streaming in from large arched windows, filled the room, warming it in the mid autumn morning.

Anders couldn't imagine Fenris having done any housekeeping, considering he had not bothered in the six years he had been squatting in the mansion. Evidently, Leto was doing a great job of making this wing of the mansion a home.

"Drink?" Fenris asked after a moment of awkward silence.

"Water, please," Anders replied.

Fenris rummaged around the pantry and returned with an earthenware jug, half a loaf of bread and a quarter wheel of cheese on a wooden board. He laid them down on the table and went to fetch a couple of mugs and a knife.

After he had sliced the bread and cut a wedge of cheese for himself he pushed it over to Anders and said, "Help yourself."

Anders thanked him, pouring out the water for the both of them. Silence fell between the men once more. It wasn't exactly companionable but it was less awkward than Anders had expected. Of course, Anders would had never expect to break fast with the elf in such an amicable situation.

"You're hurt," Anders finally said when he noticed the bloodied rips on the back of Fenris' armour. "Is it bad? Do you need healing?"

"It's nothing," Fenris replied stiffly.

Anders shrugged, a slight smile on his lips. "All in a day's work. You should at least clean the wounds in case they infected. You never know where the offending blade's been. Do you have any elfroot? Bandages?"

Fenris' expression was one of mild confusion as he pointed to a utility room adjoining the kitchen. Anders rose from his seat, instructed Fenris to strip while he retrieved the things he required to clean and dress the elf's wounds. He was quite pleased to find how well-stocked Leto's first aid cupboard was. Anders imagined the boy had taken care of his father more than once after Fenris' return from another little jaunt with Hawke.

As Anders worked silently, Fenris asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because it would be remiss of me as a healer to leave --"

"No," Fenris interrupted, "I mean, why..." He faltered.

"Why what?" Anders prompted when the elf did not continue.

"You spend a lot of your time to teach him; to befriend him. You even risked your life to keep him safe."

"And you think I wouldn't because he's your son." Anders voiced what Fenris had not. "He's not an extension of you, Fenris. He needed guidance and I was in a position to provide it. Him being your son is mere coincidence."

Fenris was silent, deep in thought for a moment before he spoke again. "He speaks very highly of you."

"And that goes against everything you believe, right?" Anders snorted.

Fenris grunted noncommittally, but did eventually mutter a 'yes' grudgingly.

Anders smirked. "Well, I'd say your son is a better judge of character than you."

"Don't flatter yourself, mage," Fenris growled, but Anders did notice the lack of rancour that was usually present when the elf was annoyed with him.

"At the risk of flattering myself again, don't let me or the mage issue come between you and your son. Like it or not he is a mage, and a talented one at that. He needs you now more than ever."

When Fenris did not rebuke him for the unsolicited advice, Anders took it as a sign to carry on. "You do realise that your constant preaching about magic being evil and all has made him rather insecure. He actually thinks you hate him because he is a mage. Really, what does he need to do you gain your approval?"

Anders realised that he _had_ overstepped his boundary when he found himself being hauled off his feet and slammed against the wall. Fenris had placed a firm hold on Anders, his right hand flush against the latter's chest, similarly Anders had reached to grasp Fenris' right wrist with a vice grip. It would've been so easy for either one to deliver a killing blow, and make true on the multitude threats they had exchanged over the years. And, yet, as they both glowered at each other with unyielding glares, their drumming heartbeats and rapid breaths easily felt by the other, neither one made any further moves.

As Anders peered deep into those fiery green eyes, he could not help but draw comparisons, once again, to Leto's own. When he searched them for the possibility of any kind of armistice, he was startled to find that Fenris was not entirely adverse to the idea. Perhaps Fenris, too, saw the same thing in Anders' eyes. Then, the barest hints of a furrow appeared on the elf's brow, while a look of uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Fenris closed his eyes and the subtle shift of weight against Anders chest told the mage that this would not be their last stand. 

Somewhat at a lost to how he should respond, Anders merely stood there, his own grip on the elf's wrist loosened. Although slackened, he could still feel the beat of Fenris' pulse, gradually slowing down to a steady rhythm, not unlike his own. Anders felt like he should do something, but was reluctant to be the first in breaking the peace, even if he was begin to feel a little self-conscious. 

Fortunately for him, the awkwardness that descended around them was swiftly dispelled when an exasperated profanity startled them apart. Hawke had seemingly appeared. Anders was certain he would've probably separated them with a spell had his arms not been full of provisions.

"Since you two can't play nicely, Anders, go home. Fenris, for the love of the Maker, set a better example for your son!" he chided, then turned to the door that led to the living quarters, before continuing, "As for you, young man, back in bed. I will bring you some food in a moment."

Anders' heart leapt. He had not realise Leto had been awake. How much had he heard, or seen? However, before he could say anything else, Fenris had ushered the boy back to bed, just as Hawke had manhandled him out into the streets.

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

****

XXI.

Anders was certain he would fall straight into the Fade the moment his head touched the pillow. Yet despite the fatigue that laced his body, sleep would not come. 

He lay in this bedraggled cot listening to the muffled sounds of Darktown beyond his closed door. No doubt some would be in search of the healer. He felt a little guilty but he simply could not bring himself to summon sufficient magic to be of any real help. He needed rest, but, Maker be damned, his mind was racing. 

Events of the last day kept running through his head. Even though they has successfully retrieved Leto, Anders could not silence the guilt that was nagging him; or perhaps it was Justice that nagged him, he could no longer be sure. As far as he was concerned, the boy shouldn't have been taken in the first place. What should he have done differently? Perhaps they should've headed to higher grounds instead of Lowtown. Anders also chastised himself for not bring more mindful of the rogue that had poisoned him. And what of the insidious mage that had ensnared him? Anders was no stranger to mage duels, he should have handled it better. Did he even have the means to keep the boy safe?

As Anders tossed and turned in his cot, the self-flagellation continued. In spite of that, Anders would recall moments where Leto had come to surprise him with the practical application of defensive and control magic. As the scenes continued to play in his mind's eyes his attention was drawn to two particular events. The first was when the Tevinter hunter moved to attack Leto with a cruel looking mace, and despite the haze of pain veiling his vision, Anders could clearly see how Leto had shimmered ever so briefly, making the hunter's mace sheer away from him harmlessly. The second came when they were aboard the Antivan galleon – a stray bolt had found its way towards Leto, and like the mace, it did not find purchase upon the boy. At that time, lightning had masked the glow, but Anders was certain now that he had seen it; it was a glow that was not unlike the luminosity of the Fade often seen around Justice.

Anders sat straight up. The realisation of what he might have witnessed had banished the fatigue from his body. His eyes raked across the haphazard collection of books he had; but he uttered an epithet knowing that none of them would yield any kind of confirmation he sought. If he was right in his deduction, there was only one other person he knew that possessed knowledge and mastery of such incredible magical skill.

Even though Anders had been given the opportunity to learn it, he had failed. Could the affinity of this brand of magic be racial? Perhaps; after all, it was recovered from an ancient elven ruin. 

If Leto had the potential to excel in it, then, as his mentor, it would be negligent of Anders to not guide him to that path. That was obvious, but the means to that end was not so simple. First of all, Anders would need to prove his deduction was right – he hadn't the foggiest on how to do that – then he would need to convince both Leto and Fenris that it would be best for Leto to pursue it. Perhaps best for both of them as it could prove to be a stepping stone for father and son towards common grounds. Lastly, he also considered that Hawke might actually disapprove of his proposal. 

Anders rubbed his brow wearily. Before facing this seemingly gargantuan task, he needed sleep. He threw his blanket aside in irritation, rose and then rummaged his stores for a sleeping draught. If sleep did not come willingly, then he would compel it. 

~*~

While sleep had yielded much needed rest and healing, it did not offer any solutions Anders sought. He laid in bed, feeling a little lost. It was then Justice was quick to remind him of his obligation to the Mage Underground and that he should not divert all his attention to the plight of a single mage, his inappropriate affections notwithstanding. At the mention of said affections, Anders could feel another wave of guilt wash over him. He felt like his brain was about to explode; Justice was undoubtedly fanning at the fuse.

Throwing his arm over his eyes, Anders let out a miserable moan. Whatever consequences he had to face for his immoral actions within the Fade, it would have to wait. No one could honestly expect a Grey Warden to think on an empty stomach. 

Half and hour later, and after a scrounged up meal, Anders dragged his feet to Hawke's mansion. While Anders was interested to know how Leto was doing, he was not foolish enough to assume he had been given leave to visit Fenris' as he pleased. The best way to find out would be to speak to Hawke.

"Good to see you around," Hawke said by way of greeting. "I was just thinking of looking you up."

Anders gave him a curious glance. "Why? I haven't been asleep that long, have I?"

"A day or so," he replied as he manoeuvred Anders towards the kitchen then promptly sat him down at the table. Affection and gratitude bloomed in his chest. He was never one to readily accept hand-outs but Hawke had long countermanded any protest and refusal he had voiced over the years. Hawke's excuse was that Bodahn and Orana always made too much and it would go to waste if no one ate the surplus.

"Is that it? We've gone for weeks without seeing each other."

Hawke gave him a slight shrug as he piled his plate with cold cuts, pastry and fruit. Next he hung a kettle in the hearth before rummaging the cupboards for mugs. "Well, you were pushing yourself rather hard the past few days."

A wry smile curled Anders' lips. "It's nice to know someone cares."

Hawke clipped Anders on the back of his head as he, Hawke, approached to set a mug of tea in front of the latter. "Don't be stupid."

"Maker! Have you been taking lessons from the elf?"

Hawke's only answer was a mischievous grin, before he popped a slice of dried apple into his mouth. "Speaking of whom, Fenris sends his apologies."

"Did he, really?"

"No, not really, but I can tell he's sorry."

"Actually, it was my fault this time."

"Huh, is that so?" Hawke gave him a sly smile.

Anders chose not to answer, instead stuffed his mouth with a particularly large piece of bread. 

Hawke continued, "I think, in fact, we all think it's about time that you have found a common interest. It was beginning to weigh down on Leto, too. You both mean the world to him. I've said as much to Fenris, but, Maker, he can be so pig-headed; as can you." He pointed an accusatory finger at Anders. "Poor little sod, so shaken about the abduction. He doesn't need anymore stress."

"But otherwise, he's fine?" Anders asked, "No side-effects from the blood magic?"

"That, messere, is your métier." Hawke gestured expansively at Anders. "Why do you think I'm fattening you up? Don't need you fainting or anything."

"And here I though you were feeding me because you cared," Anders replied with mock petulance.

"Two birds with one stone." Hawke winked.

"And for the record, I don't faint," Anders muttered sulkily. A moment of companionable silence passed before Anders asked, "Do we know who is behind the abduction?"

"Varric is currently out there busting balls, he wasn't pleased the hunters slipped through his net. He'll find out soon enough."

Anders nodded. "You know, it might be useful to know the story behind Leto's escape. Do we even know who claimed ownership of him? How did he even know Fenris was in Kirkwall?"

"You maybe right. Right then, chop chop, finish eating." Hawke clapped Anders on the shoulder as he whisked past. "We'll get going after I get changed."

The walk to Fenris' mansion was short and filled with idle chatter, mostly from Hawke talking. When they arrived, Hawke simply marched into the mansion as if he owned it. No doubt he was a frequent visitor. Anders had often wondered why he had not insisted on Fenris and Leto moving in with him.

They found Fenris in the common room tending to his armour and swords. He looked up at Anders with mild annoyance but swiftly veiled it. He said nothing, simply gestured towards the living quarters.

"Come," Hawke said, laying a hand on Fenris' shoulder. "We would like to ask Leto about his escape. It might help us stop who's after him. You should hear it, too."

Fenris looked as if he wanted to protest, but rose wordlessly to lead them in instead. Leto was still abed, but had a book with him. Anders was glad to see the colour in the boy cheeks. It did not seem like Leto was suffering from any physical side effects of his abduction and enthralment. However, when Anders smiled at him, Leto averted his eyes and dipped his head ever so slightly. Anders could not help but feel a stab of worry. Nevertheless, he swept it aside, for now, and broached the subject of the boy's escape instead.

Leto seemed surprised that they were asking him about it. He shot nervous glances at his audience. Fenris had moved to sit at the foot of Leto's bed while Anders took a seat by the desk. Hawke had, surprisingly, ensconced himself in a far corner in an attempt to be as inconspicuous as he could ever be.

Leto took a deep breath and began his tale...

* * *


	22. Chapter 22

****

XXII.

The last of the summer warmth lingered even though the autumn had approached. Leto could actually feel the cold fade away from the stones of the alchemy laboratories when the morning sun poured in. He laid down his work and moved to take in the warm sunlight by the window. He peered through the bars and watched the hustle and bustle of the estate below him. It was during these days which he got envious of them.

After one last glance, Leto turned and resumed his work. Even as the envy still tickled his heart, he was grateful for his position. True, he was never permitted to leave the mansion, in fact, he was confined to the laboratories, but he had been witness to the harsher treatment that the other slaves bore. His skills were unique – he was not so easily replaceable, which earned him better living conditions; notwithstanding, it did not mean he was exempt from punishment. 

Subconsciously, his hand rose to touch the collar around his neck. It sat flush against his skin, barely any space in between. On warmer days, it would chafe, but after all these years of bearing it, he had been inured to the constant pain. 

The heavy clunk of the turning lock reminded him that he had not broken his fast. Leto hurriedly wiped his hand and headed out to the corridor. There, he greeted his mother, who had brought him that day's ration, and every day since he had been given the duty of making potions and poisons for their Mistress, the Magister Messalina. It was the only time they were permitted to see each other, and allowed a generous ten minutes to spend together.

They retreated to the small room where Leto slept. While Leto ate his breakfast, his mother tidied up his room. As she did that, Leto noted with some surprise that she was humming.

"You are in good spirits," he said.

She turned to flash him a smile, one that wasn't tinted with sadness. "Oh, yes, it is a lovely day," she replied enigmatically. She has never been one to take joy from good weather. She took a seat by him and looked at him closely, studied him, even as if she had not seen him in years. It was then her smile turned sad again.

"I know you do not know him, but you are quite like your father; and you have his eyes," she suddenly said, cupping his cheek tenderly. Leto was once again surprised, his mother rarely spoke of his father. Leto knew their union did not come out of love, but what little she had said of him before, Leto gathered she was fond of and respected him.

She continued, "We had only know each other for a few months, he stayed at the estate when his master was a guest to Mistress. He was strong and loyal, oh, and very handsome. He was dark skinned and tall, taller than any elf here. His hair was black and he had a kind smile. Not that he smiled often. Always so serious in protecting his master." She chuckled.

"I knew the scowls weren't all he was when he climbed out on the roof one day to rescue the young master's kitten. Nearly fell off, too." She smiled fondly at the memory before she she picked up Leto's empty breakfast plate and rose. "You would have a much better life with him," she whispered as she gave him a peck on the cheek before heading out.

As Leto resumed his duties, his mind was filled with thoughts of his mother's unusual behaviour and words. He remembered once, when he was very young, he had asked her about his father and it had upset her. Since then he had not dared to broach the taboo subject. Over the years, she had offered snippets of information about him – that Leto was named for him, that he had a sister – small titbits that almost seemed trivial in light of what she had shared that day. He had spent a lot of time imagining what his father looked like, now he had a better description to fill the blank slate. 

Leto's mother's light mood seemed contagious as he went about his duty with a little tune in his head – a children's rhyme, its words long forgotten. It had been a tolerable day until Cassius paid him a visit.

Cassius was one of the Mistress' apprentice. He was a small mousey man with dark beady eyes. Even in his confinement, Leto knew that he was the most ungifted of the apprentices, and Cassius knew that as well. He was vain and insecure at the same time, often taking out his frustrations on the slaves, Leto in particular because they were almost always alone.

Leto immediately bowed to the man, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground. Even without looking, he could feel Cassius scorn. One thing that the man was completely inept in was potion-making, which of course fuelled his rancour towards Leto. Fortunately, for Leto, the Mistress had forbade her apprentices from exacting any kind of discipline on him. If Leto was to be punished, she would do it herself. Nevertheless, that did not entirely stop the apprentices, or the guards for that matter, from taking matters into their own hands every so often. They simply had to be more careful with how they delivered the chastisement.

"Where is the potion I require?" Cassius demanded.

"It's brewing, Master Cassius," Leto replied quietly.

"Unacceptable!" the man roared. "I need it now, you useless cur!" 

Leto immediately tensed, his pulse quickening in dreadful anticipation of the chastisement that would follow. Sure enough he felt the sting of a thousand thorns upon his back, but more than that, he felt the scorching agony from the collar sear his neck. Leto gritted his teeth in attempt to stifle his cry, knowing very well that any commotion he caused would merely result in further punishment. Blessedly, Cassius did not cast any further spells upon him.

"I want it finished by supper time, cur," Cassius orders, kicking Leto in the ribs before whisking past towards the exit.

Leto drew his knees up to his chest, sobbed and waited for the pain to abate. Dimly, he was aware of the blood trickling down his back and the prickling sensation of burnt skin around his neck. As soon as he was able he rose shakily to retrieve his own secret stash of healing potions. He never dared siphon off more than a spoonful at a time, but it was often enough to get him upright to carry out his duty. It would be a greater risk to not complete his daily tasks than to be caught using the potions he made.

Dusk could not come sooner. Fortunately, Cassius had not returned. As per usual, another slave had arrived to collect the fruits of Leto's labour for the day. Once the other slave had gone, Leto hurriedly returned to his room, and was fast asleep the moment he laid down.

What felt like mere moments later, he was shaken awake. Leto cried out and jerked away, fearing that Cassius had return to punish him further.

"Hush, love," his mother's voice said in the darkness, as her hands reached out to him gently. "It's only I."

"Mother? What's the matter? Why are you here at this hour?"

"It's time for you to go," she replied as she placed a threadbare woollen shirt and a pair of well-worn boots on him.

"Go? Go where?"

"I know you have many questions, but I cannot answer them all. There is no time." With no further words, she drew him up on his feet, beckoned him to be quiet and to follow. Leto did as he was told. His mother led him through the slumbering estate, keeping to the shadows and discrete passageways that were only used by slaves and servants – heaven forbid should the Imperial citizens see them in the marbled hallways. That meant it was easier for Leto and his mother to avoid the guards, too. Eventually they came to a sally port by the kitchens and his mother gave him a sound hug.

In an urgent whisper she said, "Magister Danarius is dead. It means your father is free. Go to Kirkwall and find him. With him, you, too, will be free."

"How?" Leto could not help but ask.

But his mother did not answer. She pulled him into another fierce embrace then studied his face again. Leto also took the opportunity to memorise every last detail of his mother – her long copper hair and pale skin, her loving smile and sweet voice that had soothed his many troubled nights when he was young, and the glistening tears that filled her deep brown eyes. 

"Be strong, and know that I love you always." She wiped the tears from his eyes; Leto had not even realised he had begun to cry, too. "Go with Vitus, he will get you on board a ship to Kirkwall."

It was only then, that Leto noticed a shadowy figure just beyond the sally-port. In a gruff voice, he said, "Quickly, now, boy. Time's a wasting."

With that his mother hurried him out of the estate. Vitus took a firm hold of his arm and marched him away. That was the last time he had seen his mother.

~*~

Vitus had snuck him aboard and stowed him in a cargo hold. He had given Leto strict instructions to stay there and stay quite, and that he would return with food and water whenever he could. Leto nodded obediently and ensconced himself between two particularly large crates. His mind was reeling, he barely understood what had happened in the last hour, never mind comprehend the ramifications of his, and his mother's, actions.

His mother had said he was free – how was that possible? What did his supposed freedom have to do with his father? The implication was both exhilarating and terrifying. What did it mean? What was he to do now? How would he find his father? Leto had no idea what the man looked like, what he did, only that they shared a name and he was in Kirkwall. 

Tears ran unbidden down his cheeks again, and Leto could not help but feel bereft – everything he had known had been taken from him. Yet, it was his mother who had been responsible for that. Like a child, he felt like turning back and returning to her, where things were certain even if they were cruel, but he was old enough to know that his mother must have made immeasurable sacrifices to get him where he was. He wasn't even sure if she would survive the morning. Thus, with a heavy heart, he vowed to himself that his mother's sacrifice would not be in vain, and that he would find his father.

Leto held himself close, savouring the warmth of the woollen shirt, the last thing that his mother had given him. It was then sleep claimed him.

When Leto awoke, he realised that the sun has risen and that the swaying of the ship was far more vigorous. Evidently, they had embarked. Cautiously, Leto moved towards the source of light, a small porthole, to peer out of it. He saw nothing beyond the open sea. Briefly, he wondered how far Kirkwall was and how long it would take them to get there. Leto returned to his hiding spot and waited for Vitus to return, he didn't know what else to do.

It would be another day before Vitus returned to the hold. Blessedly, he came with provisions albeit meagre. Leto did not complain, in fact, he was grateful for it. Every few days the sailor would return, say nothing, and stayed only long enough to drop a skin of water and a few scraps of food for Leto. Once, Vitus even brought him a couple of yards of moth eaten sail cloth to use as a blanket. Leto thanked him every time, but he got nothing but grunts in reply.

Leto lost track of time, and the scarcity of food and the constant motion was wearing down on him. He felt sick more often than not but was determined to keep what little food he had in him. The days bled into weeks, even months and Leto wouldn't know. When he was certain he could bear no more, Vitus returned, shook him roughly awake and said, "We're here, ya gotta hide, they'll be unloading cargo soon."

Leto panicked, where could he hide? He had not seen anywhere beyond the hold and he was certain there were no niches or closets or cupboards he could duck into. Vitus said no more, he simply picked Leto up and deposited him into a compartment behind a hidden door. It was a tiny space, there was barely room for the slender elf. Vitus instructed him once again to be quiet and that he would get Leto off the boat at nightfall.

Soon after Vitus had left, a hubbub of activity could be heard in the cargo hold as the other sailors unloaded the cargo. Leto hardly dared to breathe, especially when one approached his position. Nightfall eventually came, and Leto was beyond relieved when Vitus came for him for the final time. The burly sailor hoisted the boy over his shoulder and deposited him on the Kirkwall docks. 

Vitus bent down and clapped Leto on his shoulder. "Good luck, boy, I'd get off the docks sharpish, plenty of bad folk here."

Leto looked up at the man, gratitude in his eyes and on his lips, as he struggled to his feet. Vitus turned and returned to the ship without so much a backward glance. Taking the man's parting advice, he headed out of the docks as fast as his unsteady legs could take him. Then suddenly, three men had waylaid him.

* * *


	23. Chapter 23

****

XXIII.

The silence that enveloped the room was punctuated only by Leto's quiet sniffing. Anders' heart ached hearing how difficult Leto's journey to Kirkwall had been, but more heart-breaking was the sacrifice his mother had made to get him free. Anders wanted nothing more than to sweep Leto up in a crushing embrace and to tell him thing will get better now, but Hawke's, and more importantly, Fenris' presence stayed his hand.

Fenris stood up quite suddenly, drawing all attention to him. Anders had noticed that he had avoided looking at Leto throughout the story. Fenris cast a brief look at the boy then muttered, "I'm sorry," his voice choked with emotion, before fleeing the room. Hawke was on his feet following that. He gave Anders a meaningful glance that said he would take care of the father while Anders was to console the son.

Once Hawke had left, Anders moved to embrace the boy. Leto, hesitant at first, crumpled into his arms and hung on to Anders like his life depended on it. No more tears came, for which Anders was thankful, he couldn't bear to see the boy cry. After a few moments, Leto took a deep breath before pushing away from Anders. He looked up to meet Anders' gaze, a question clearly in his eyes.

"What is it, Leto?" Anders prompted, "You know you need not pick and choose your words with me."

Leto chewed his lips briefly then asked, "Do you desire my father?"

Anders would have never expected _that_. "What...? What made you ask that?"

Leto looked away petulantly and gave Anders half a shrug as a reply.

Gently laying his hand over Leto's, Anders began to explain, "First of all, no, I do not desire him, secondly, woe betide on anyone foolish enough to come between Hawke and him." Realisation then dawned on Anders, "Wait, are you asking because of what you think you saw the day before yesterday?"

Leto made another half-hearted shrug and Anders couldn't help chuckling. Leto then brushed Anders' hand off his shoulder and stamped away, head down and arms around himself.

"Oh, Leto," Anders said gently, "I wasn't laughing at you, just as the irony of the situation. I promise you, your father and I do not desire each other, the complete opposite, in fact."

Leto took a moment before casting a glance over his shoulder at Anders, trepidation filled his eyes. In a quiet voice he asked, "Do you desire me?"

 _This_ Anders should have expected. "I..." he floundered, fighting the urge to shout out yes! "Leto... it's complicated..."

"Why?" The boy challenged, "You said differently before."

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose, completely at a lost on how to answer that.

When Anders did not answer, Leto continued just as quietly as before, "You said to fight, and I did, I fought for you."

"No, Leto. Don't do it for me, do it for yourself," Anders shook his head, his shoulders sagging, "I know it's difficult to understand but victims are often fixated on those who rescue them. Their gratitude is mistaken for –"

"It's not a mistake!" Leto interrupted, sounding angry. "Please," he bunched his fists in the front of Anders' robes, "Please, don't!"

Anders wanted nothing more than to take Leto in his arms and promise the boy that everything would be alright, and that Anders would take care of him, but Anders knew better. He knew with certainty that he could never keep that promise. Nevertheless, the boy still needed a little kindness and affection in his life, thus he gently wrapped his arms around Leto's shoulders.

Unfortunately, Leto took Anders' embrace as a sign that he, Anders, had relented, reached up to capture a kiss.

 _No,_ Anders thought to himself even as Justice rumbled his disapproval. _It is wrong to keep misleading the boy._ Yet as Anders began to gently extract the boy, he was suddenly ripped away and a veritable battering ram collided with his face, which sent him careening across the room. His vision darkened and spots danced before his eyes. He had distinctly felt his jaw breaking on impact and his mouth filled with blood. So, this was what it truly felt to be on the receiving end of Fenris' wrath.

Even though his eyes would not focus, he could make out the silhouette of the enrage elven warrior towering before him. As Fenris grasped the collar of Anders' robes roughly, his other hand pulled back and glowing with deadly intention, a third person intervened; jumping between them as he cried, "Father, no!" A shimmering shield enveloped Leto even as Fenris landed the blow, which, luckily, glanced off the shield. 

For several heartbeats, time seemed to have frozen, then Leto, breathless and shaking, collapsed. Fenris surged forward to catch the boy then swiftly carried him to bed.

"What in Andraste's frigid tits just happened?" Hawke demanded exasperatedly, as he moved to stand between Fenris and Anders. 

While Anders was tempted to ask which part Hawke referred to, he could not; not with a broken jaw. Hawke seemed to notice his predicament, approached to examine him, none too gently either. Anders winced.

"Maker, Fenris!" Hawke exclaimed, while channelling healing magic to knit the bones and flesh back together, "You broke his jaw!"

Fenris turned to glare at Hawke, his eyes alight with irritation. Naturally, he would feel his actions justified. Anders imagined he himself would fly off the handle if he found his child being seduced by a man old enough to be the child's parent. On top of that, said man was a mentor, he should not be abusing his position of trust. Justice was swift enough to say _I told you so,_ spitefully.

As soon as Hawke was done with Anders, he helped the latter up, instructing him to wait in the kitchen, and that Hawke would join him shortly. Anders did as he was asked, even if he did feel like fleeing, instead. He rubbed his jaw and wiggled it gently; the tenderness was still present, but he had to admit Hawke's healing skills were improving.

Several minutes later, Hawke and Fenris entered the kitchen.

"Right, what just happened with Leto?" Hawke asked without deliberation. Anders was surprised Hawke wasn't chewing him and Fenris out. "That was not an arcane shield."

Anders rubbed his brow wearily. "Have you ever heard of the Arcane Warrior?"

Hawke shook his head, and Anders continued, "When I was in Amaranthine, Warden Commander Surana offered me the knowledge of an ancient elven magic. It was thought lost, till he recovered it from the Brecillian Ruins during his quest to end the Blight. Being able to exist partially in both the Fade and the physical world is one of the skills of an Arcane Warrior."

"And you're saying Leto is one?"

"No, I'm saying he could train to be one. Twice during his abduction and just now, he had instinctively bridge the gap to the Fade and used its power to protect himself from grievous harm."

"Why exactly is it called _Arcane Warrior_?"

"With training, Leto would also be able to channel his magic inwards, bolstering his strength so to mimic that of a warrior. For all intents and purposes, he would be one. He would be able to fight as any warrior, wield a sword, wear armour, but cause untold damage with his magic instead or brute strength."

It was then, Anders noticed Fenris' interest, even if the latter was trying not to show it.

"And you'll train him?" Hawke asked again.

"Ah, no," Anders looked at him a little sheepishly. "There's only one person I know who can."

"Just one?" Hawke raised his eyebrow at Anders. "Let me guess – your Warden Commander?"

"Yes, and he's stationed in Amaranthine."

Fenris growled, "How convenient that you would suggest to take my son away from Kirkwall!"

"As a matter of fact, I have no intention of leaving Kirkwall," Anders replied cooly, "So if you wish to keep him from seeing me, then sending him to Amaranthine would suit your purpose perfectly. I would be happy to write a letter of introduction to the Commander for you."

"Alright, that's enough for one day," Hawke interceded. "Maker, you two will be the death of me. Anders, why don't you go get some rest?"

Recognising that he had been dismissed, Anders nodded and rose. Just before he left, he did have the grace to turn to Fenris and mutter an apology.

* * *


	24. Chapter 24

****

XXIV.

A noxious fume billowed out from the beaker making Anders cough and his eyes water. Muttering a string of expletives, he doused the smoking beaker with a flick of his wrist, instantly enveloping it in ice. This was the fifth time he had done it wrong.

Anders glared at the pile of parchment upon his workbench; his gaze was accusatory, as if blaming the instructions for his mishaps, but he knew better. The fault was his own and Justice's incessant grumbling kept reminding him of that. He simply had not been concentrating at the task at hand. A foolish thing, to be sure, given the volatile nature of the reagents and compounds he was working to refine.

Slumping his shoulders, Anders rubbed his forehead tiredly. His eyes were drawn to a different pile of parchments that was haphazardly stacked upon his desk. At the top of the pile was an unused sheet, save for two words – _"Dear Commander,"_. It was ridiculous, but Anders could almost feel the unfinished letter taunting him. 

When he had suggested a trip to Amaranthine, he hadn't expect it to evoke these feelings of guilt again. In part, he wished he could take it back but he wasn't that selfish to deny Leto the chance to learn from the Commander just to spare his own feelings. Leto deserved the best education he could get.

Anders had meant what he told Fenris – he would not leave Kirkwall, and even if he did, he certainly had no intention of returning to the Vigil, ever. No doubt the elf was relieved that Anders wasn't going to be a travelling companion. 

The introduction part of the letter would be easy to compose, but Anders felt that the Commander deserved an explanation, especially when Anders was asking for a favour after running out on the Wardens seven years ago. Moreover, he owed the Commander a life debt. Without the Commander's intervention Anders would've very likely been hung as Ser Rylock had threatened. 

A pang of regret clutched at Anders' chest; exacerbated by Justice's own. Vigil's Keep had been home to the both of them. It was the only place where they were both accepted, welcomed even, despite their uniqueness. They had friends there, people that they could rely on, that they could trust with their lives. In the short time they had been there, the keep had become home to them.

Once more, the blighted Templars had taken whatever little good in Anders' life from him.

The banging on the door startled him out of his thoughts. That late hour and the urgency of the knocks implied that someone was seriously hurt. Either that or Isabela and Hawke were drunk again and out pranking. Anders opened the door and was almost barrelled over.

"You're sending me away?" Leto shouted, his voice tinted with anguish and anger.

When Anders had suggested Amaranthine, he knew it would take time for Fenris and Hawke to make a decision and that they would inform Leto once they had done so. Obviously, Fenris had finally made the decision to go, and just as obvious Leto was not pleased to hear that Anders would not be accompanying them.

"Is it because of the hunters?" Leto continued. "I promise to train harder, I can learn to defend myself better. I won't get caught again."

"It's not just about them," Anders replied gently. "It's about getting you trained as an Arcane Warrior."

"Why can't you teach me?"

"I don't know how."

"Then just teach me what you know! I'll just be whatever you can teach me." Leto clutched at Anders' jacket. "Please don't send me away. I'll be good."

"Leto!" Anders snapped, placing a firm grip on the boy's shoulders. "Do you even realise what you are saying? You are not being punished for some imagined transgression."

Leto looked up at him petulantly. Maker help him, Leto looked like he was going to cry. Anders pulled the boy into a brief hug before seating him on a cot. Anders sat down, too, his shoulders drooping little. It was then that Anders knew he needed to be separated from Leto if the boy was ever going to fully shed his slave mentality.

"You are a very talented mage," Anders began, "With the right kind of training you will be very powerful, I have no doubt. I've given you a solid foundation, a general knowledge of spells.

"Sure, you can get by with what I can teach you but is that enough? Do you really want to be mediocre when you could be exceptional?" Anders paused, letting his words sink in. "Don't squandered your gift, Leto. Go to Amaranthine, learn from the Commander. He's a good man, he'll not steer you wrong."

After a brief moment of wearing out the hem of left sleeve, Leto asked, "Why can't you come with me? Is it because my father told you not to?"

"That is my decision, not your father's. I cannot leave Kirkwall at the moment. There are things I have to take care of."

"Then I'll wait till you're done," Leto said hopefully.

"No." Anders shook his head. Kirkwall was getting increasingly dangerous for mages and apostates both. He knew that it would be better for Leto to leave sooner rather than later. On top of that, Anders did not want Leto in the city when his carefully laid out plans came into fruition. "You have to stop living your life around mine. You are _free_ , Leto."

Leto held his gaze steadily, "Doesn't that mean I get to choose what I want?"

"Yes, but you are also still a child, defer to your father's decision, he only wants what's best for you."

At that, Leto snorted indignantly and marched away from Anders, "What he wants is to keep me from you!"

"Then do what I feel is best for you," Anders countered. "Go to Amaranthine."

Leto stood stock still, his head turned away from Anders. He did not seem to have heard Anders. After a moment he strode directly to Anders' work bench and demanded, "What exactly are you planning to do with these?"

"Don't worry about that, just a little potion Justice and I are working on," Anders replied nonchalantly as he made a move to store his work out of plain sight.

"Potion?" Leto quirked a sceptical eyebrow. "You forget that I am trained to be an alchemist. I know those reagents don't make any kind of potions. Not unless you're planning to make someone's stomach explode."

Anders clenched his fist, holding back Justice's anger – anger at being discovered and anger that a whippersnapper was actually sassing him.

"This doesn't concern you!" Anders growled, feeling the edges of his control fraying. "You, a mere boy, would presume to tell me what to do?"

"How about a friend?" Leto replied softly. "One who cares very much about you. Please don't do anything stupid."

Incredibly, Anders felt Justice's will relax and retreat. While the spirit was still seething just below Anders' consciousness, it seemed content to let Anders deal with the situation, provided their plans were not compromised.

"I won't tell you, Leto, it's for your own safety."

"So, you're going to do something unsafe?"

"Leto ..."

"How can anything good come from blowing something up?" Leto clutched at Anders desperately, "Please, please, don't do it!"

"You're letting your imagination run wild."

"No, I'm not! Find another way, there has to be another way! Whatever it is, there has to be another way!"

"Leto ..."

"I'll tell!" the boy suddenly blurted out, his jaw set in grim determination.

Anders could not stop the smile from twitching on his lips. "What are you, eight?"

"I'm serious! I'll tell Messere Hawke you're going to do something stupid."

"Enough!" Anders snapped, feeling Justice lose his temper.

Leto jumped back, his eyes coloured with fear, much like how he had looked when they first met. Anders didn't blame him, even full grown men cower under the glare of Justice's righteous fury.

Anders wrested control back and the blue tendrils vanished. "I'm sorry, Leto, I never meant for you to see that side of me. I am not the paragon that you regard me as. Please, for both our sakes, go to Amaranthine."

Leto fled. Perhaps, this was a good thing, Anders thought.

~*~

At mid morning the next day, Hawke paid him a visit. Anders had fully expected to be lambasted, but he knew it wasn't the case when he spied Aveline and Isabela behind Hawke; unless, of course, they wanted to tan his hide, too.

"Deep Roads," Hawke said and Anders did not even bother to hide his wince. Hawke continued, "I know you don't like it but we're going there to help out a Warden."

"A Warden? They wouldn't ask an outsider for help." Anders began handing out some potions to the others.

"They didn't, it was the Warden's sister that came to me. Said her brother could be missing, they were following our original expedition route. Delia or something, I think."

"Delilah Howe?" Anders asked, his heart taking a leap.

"That's it. You know her?"

Anders frowned, not liking what he had heard. "Yes. Her brother, Nathaniel and I were among the first recruits that the Warden Commander conscripted in Amaranthine. Nathaniel is very good at what he does. If he's missing, he could be in real trouble." Then Anders added silently to himself, _Or dead._

"Right, let's move quickly then," Hawke said.

It took them the rest of the day to get to the entrance of the Deep Roads. Even though speed was of the essence, they still made camp for the night. It would do them no good to enter exhausted. Hawke had declared that would rest for several hours before venturing in. Maker knew they would not get many chances to rest whilst underground.

They had found a natural alcove in foot of the hills to make camp. While the ladies settled down to sleep, the men sat at the entrance and took first watch. They sat in silence, Anders preoccupied with his thoughts the upcoming rescue mission. He also wondered how Nathaniel would receive him. For all intents and purposes, Anders was a deserter. He didn't actually know how the order dealt with deserters. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Hawke spoke, "Worried about your friend?"

Anders laughed, it sounded bitter even to himself. "I don't know if I could call him a friend. Sure, I've saved his life several times, and he's saved mine but it's just all part of the job description, you know?"

Silence descend upon them briefly before Hawke said, "You don't speak much about being a Warden. Sometimes I forget you are even one."

"Yes, up until someone says Deep Roads to you, and you come running, and beating down my door."

A smile tugged at Hawke's lips. "That is true. But no one knows the Deep Roads like Wardens do."

"What's there to know? You seen one you've seen them all." Anders shrugged. "I wasn't an active Warden for long; barely a year before I left."

"Because they made you give up your cat?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Alright, I can take a hint you don't want to talk about it," Hawke said, stoking the fire. "In that case, I have a bone to pick with you. A couple, actually."

Anders, gestured for the other man to continue, after all, he was fully expecting this. He was only surprised it took this long for Hawke to deliver it.

"First of all, what were you thinking? Under Fenris' own roof? You must be begging for an early death."

Anders sighed, laboriously, "Would you believe me if I said Leto initiated it?"

Hawke gave him a smirk, "Actually, I would; even the blind can see how smitten he is with you. Question is, did you do anything to encourage him?"

"No, well, not exactly," Anders looked away guiltily, "I may have said some things that could've been misconstrued. Believe me, I have tried to rebuff him, many times."

Hawke scrutinised him briefly, but then seemed content to let it lie. Anders wondered when that one was going to jump back up and bite him in the ass.

"Secondly, Amaranthine?"

"You could quite easily go with them."

Hawke scowled at him.

"Kirkwall is not safe for mages," Anders replied flatly. "Everyday we see more Tranquil in the Gallows and no one is doing anything about it. When the Templars finally catch up to Leto, would Fenris bring himself to fight his precious Templars then?"

"That was beneath you, Anders," Hawke chided gently. "If you believe it so unsafe, why aren't you leaving?"

"You know exactly why!"

"There's no need to glow, I'm on your side," Hawke said calmly.

Anders lowered his head into his hand, "Yes, I'm sorry, I know you are. This past week has been rather trying."

Hawke smiled sympathetically at him. "Actually, going to Amaranthine is probably a good idea. Fenris knows of Messalina. He hasn't got anything good to say about her. Even among the elite, she is considered pedigree. Fenris also mentioned some old, vague, obscure Tevinter law about sons being legally owned by the father's master; that's probably why Leto's mother told him to find Fenris. If it holds up, Leto really is free. But that's not likely to stop Messalina from sending more people after Leto. She certainly has the money and influence for it."

"You sod, so you were just grilling me about Amaranthine for fun?"

"Grill? I recall no grilling. We're just having a nice, old chat."

Anders flipped him off.

"In any case," Hawke continued with a smile, "Everyone and their pet turtle in Tevinter seem to know that Danarius met his end at the hands of his once-loyal slave in Kirkwall. So, getting away will be a good thing."

"How did the elf take your suggestion?"

"Better than Leto did."

"Then you're going?"

"No, I'm not." Hawke looked away; a touch of longing flickered in his eyes. Anders understood how difficult this parting would be for Hawke and Fenris. "Like you, I cannot leave right now; not with the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter constantly bickering. Isabela has volunteered to take Fenris and Leto to Amaranthine whenever they are ready."

"The sooner the better."

They carried on chatting, mostly about trivial things. Anders had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed Hawke's company. When they had first met, Anders carried such a torch for the other mage, but when it was evident Hawke only had eyes for Fenris, Anders was wise to extinguish it. Notwithstanding, they actually did get along like a house on fire, provided Fenris wasn't present shooting daggers at Anders.

Several hours later, they roused the ladies, before settling down to rest themselves.

* * *


	25. Chapter 25

****

XXV.

It was no different than in the Fade where the demons whisper and beckon; except Anders was awake and he could feel the siren call of the darkspawn deep within his bones. It had been six years since he last set foot in the Deep Roads; he wondered how the active Wardens dealt with the never-ending rhapsody of maleficence filling their souls. It is a small wonder that only those of great fortitude survived the Joining. Nevertheless, he _was_ a Warden, like it or not, and he was in the best position to find Nathaniel and keep the party away from as much darkspawn as possible.

When they finally reached Nathaniel, they found him in the heat of battle and leapt straight into the fray to assist the Warden. They soon made short work of the darkspawn. 

"Nathaniel Howe?" Hawke said by way of greeting.

Nathaniel turned. "You're the champion of Kirkwall, aren't you? And... Anders!" He exclaimed when he spotted the mage approaching.

"Making friends as always, I see," Anders quipped. 

"There's no escaping you, it seems," Nathaniel replied. 

"I'm special that way."

"That's one way to put it."

When Hawke brazenly asked Nathaniel why the Wardens were following their expedition, Anders was surprised when Nathaniel replied rather candidly. The First Warden had ordered the reconnaissance mission to determine the state of the Thaig as well as a means to deter any further adventuring into it.

Curiosity satisfied, Hawke suggested they leave to bring Delilah the good news but Nathaniel refused. He had to search for any possible survivors from his expedition, certain that some had survived the initial ambush. Hawke agreed to follow the Warden's lead further into the tunnels.

Venturing deeper, they had come across a few bands of darkspawn and Temmerin, a dwarf under the employ of Vigil's Keep. Anders did not remember Temmerin, but he did recall the dwarf's cousin who was quite the pyromaniac. Temmerin had lined the tunnels with explosives in hopes of taking out as many darkspawn as he could. 

"Temmerin, the way behind us is clear; send word to the Wardens in case we don't make it," Nathaniel instructed. Temmerin wished them luck before retreating.

As the dwarf had intended, the strategically placed explosives cleaved through the ranks of the darkspawn making them far easier to exterminate. Eventually, they came upon a cavernous hall where another battle was taking place. It would seem Nathaniel was right, there were survivors, one at least. Without any hesitation the party surged forward to assist the lone Warden.

 _Carver!_ Anders instantly recognised the young man, even if he did look rather more distinguished in the Warden's armour. With six of them battling, they made short work of the remaining darkspawn.

"Carver?" Hawke said, his voice weighted with an equal measure of disbelief and joy.

"Just like old times – you coming to the rescue after all these years. I had it under control, but thanks."

"You know each other?" Nathaniel sounded surprised. Trust Carver to omit revealing his relationship to the Champion of Kirkwall. 

"He is my brother," Carver replied.

"It's good to see you." Hawke smiled. "I hope the years have been kind."

"I can't say that. The Blight is long over but the threat never really goes away. I don't know if you can really understand that. Maybe someday."

Anders watched the brothers' awkward reunion but was distracted. He snapped his head towards one of the tunnels just as Nathaniel did. They both had sense it.

"We don't have time for this; the darkspawn approach," Nathaniel warned as he drew his bow.

Even though they numbered six, this battle proved to be more of a challenge. Two ogres had join in the attack in rapid succession. Aveline and Carver both charged at the beasts – holding their attention, taking the brunt of their vicious attacks and returning the attacks in kind. Meanwhile, Nathaniel and Hawke whittled down the other darkspawn with arrows and force spells alike before turning their attention to the ogres as well. As always, Anders could never keep up with Isabela's whereabouts, what with her sliding in and out of shadows and stealth, but the darkspawn seem to drop like flies wherever he caught a glimpse of her here and there. Anders had decided to concentrate on support instead of assault by channeling his magic to augment strength, bolster constitution, and raise barriers, all the while suffusing his friends with rapid regeneration. 

When the last ogre finally fell, the group drew to a still, their breaths harsh and ragged from exertion. The Wardens strained to sense any reinforcements that may come but Anders felt none.

"For the first time since I've been down here, I don't sense a single darkspawn," Nathaniel confirmed. "We've won, the route to the surface should be safe now."

The others visibly relaxed. A silent agreement passed among the group as they moved on a little further from the blood-soaked battlefield to take a well deserved break, leaving Isabela to pilfer the corpses as she was wont to do.

Anders first checked his friends for wounds and injuries, finding no mortal wounds, he distributed the health potions, preferring to preserve a measure of his mana for emergencies, and swiftly patched up any more serious ones manually. When he was done with his healer duties, he noted Nathaniel had sat a little apart from the others. Hawke, Aveline and Carver seemed to be catching up, and Anders was certain Nathaniel did not want to intrude.

Anders approached his fellow Warden and offered him a piece of jerky. Nathaniel accepted it gratefully. At first they sat in companionable silence eating and drinking their rations but Anders soon broke it.

"Still at Vigil's Keep?" he asked

"Yes," Nathaniel nodded, "Second-in-command, now. No doubt Surana promoted me just so he wouldn't have to deal with the nobles."

"Congratulations. You deserve it. And the others?"

Nathaniel turned to pin him with a scrutinising eye. The archer always had a knack of seeing through Anders. "What exactly did you want to ask?"

Anders smiled wanly. "Always straight to the point, eh? Alright then, I need a favour. I know don't have the right to ask but this is for someone else."

"I make no promises, Anders," Nathaniel eventually replied.

"I just need you to bring someone to Surana."

"For recruitment?"

"Maker, no!" Anders exclaimed, then proceeded to explain about Leto's unique talent.

Nathaniel was silent after Anders' explanation, but he did eventually nod. "I still have business to conclude here. It would take me a few days before I return to Amaranthine."

Anders wondered if Hawke would thank him for hustling Fenris and Leto out of Kirkwall so quickly. Nevertheless, it had to be done. Thus, he said, "I am in your debt, Nathaniel."

Nathaniel cast him a meaningful glance. "And should I want to settle that debt in the future, will I still find you in Kirkwall?"

Averting his gaze, Anders shrugged. "Who knows what the future holds?"

"How long do you intend to run?" Nathaniel asked quietly, as he laid his hand on Anders' arm. "You, both you and Justice have been missed."

"I am sorry; we never meant for it to turn out this way," he replied mournfully, his voice sounding deeper and echoed. It was then he realised that Nathaniel's arm was coloured in a cold blue aura. He looked up at his old friend and was not surprised to see a look of mild horror and worry etched in Nathaniel's face. Justice retreated as quickly as it surfaced.

Anders swiftly rose and moved out of sight of the others. He could feel their wary stare. He didn't blame them, after all, all they have seen of Justice was when he was delivering righteous vengeance. Nathaniel, on the other hand, had known Justice when it was separate from Anders, when Justice was truer to his name. 

Nathaniel had followed. "I would've stood by you, we all would have," he said gently laying both hands on Anders' shoulders this time, and drawing the latter into his chest ever so slightly. Anders did not resist, revelling in the simple gestures of friendship, of an easy and comfortable relationship they had shared in a time that seemed like a lifetime ago.

Anders sighed heavily. "For that, I'm eternally grateful. I have wondered before how differently things might have been were I in your company, or Oghren's or even Velanna's. But regrets will serve us no purpose." Anders paused. "I have tried to put the reasons of my actions and choices into a letter of explanation to Surana, he deserves that much. So far I haven't done very well."

"Then return with us; make your explanation to the Commander in person."

"You are the third person to have suggest I return." Anders shook his head. "No, I cannot leave Kirkwall."

"What is so important in Kirkwall that you cannot bear to leave?"

"You are not a mage, you wouldn't understand."

Nathaniel look at him sadly. "I recall once, back in Amaranthine, you adamantly told Justice that obtaining freedom for all mages was not your fight. Be certain this cause is what you truly want, and not what Justice is guilting you into doing."

Before Anders could answer, Hawke had approached them and suggested they made their way to the surface. Not wanting to stay under the oppressive weight of the Deep Roads any longer than he needed to, Anders immediately moved on.

* * *


	26. Chapter 26

****

XXVI.

As expected, Hawke was a little put out by the sudden departure date that Anders had set for Fenris and Leto. Nevertheless, he grudgingly agreed that it would probably be better if a personal introduction was made. He even went as far as to invite Nathaniel for dinner just so he could meet Fenris and Leto before leaving. Anders had vehemently declined to join them. Surprisingly, Hawke did not press the matter.

Justice was finally content that all distractions had been cast away and that Anders could resume his work without interruption. Thus, Anders had cloistered himself at his clinic to avoid any contact with Hawke, Nathaniel or Leto, unless either one should seek him out. None did, for that, Anders was relieved.

In his solitude, Anders' thoughts had often flittered to Leto. They had not spoken since Justice had revealed itself to the boy – what did the boy think of him now? Would Leto ever forgive Anders for sending him away? Will the Commander be willing to accept an apostate into the Keep? There were so many questions unanswered, but Anders had to trust that this was the best thing to do.

One cold and dreary evening, Isabela glided silently into his makeshift study at the back of his clinic. Anders started when her shadow fell upon him, and not for the first time wondered how she had gained access to his locked and barred door.

"We leave tomorrow at first light," she said, "Just thought you might like to know."

"Thank you for letting me know," Anders replied. "Actually, I'm glad you came."

"Oh, are you now?" She winked playfully.

"Always with the innuendo." In spite of himself, Anders smiled. "I'd appreciate it if you gave this to Leto; just a simple parting gift." He handed over a small, cloth wrapped parcel to Isabela.

"I take it you do not mean to be there tomorrow?"

"No, I do not think that would be wise."

"Alright." Isabela tucked the package under her arm and cupped his cheek gently. "I suggest you come topside once in a while, you're starting to whither away in this cold and clammy dark." She then bade him goodnight and left.

~*~

Anders has struggled with making a decision since Isabela left. He sat in silent battle with himself until his candle had burned to a stub and slumber beckoned him. Wearily he tumbled into his cot, believing that he wouldn't do it. Yet as he crossed the Veil into the Fade, a light of clarity washed over him. He needed to do this, just to say goodbye himself. Anders set out the spell and waited patiently, even if a little apprehensively.

Ser Pounce-a-lot appeared first, and greeted him enthusiastically. Leto, on the other hand, approached somewhat more warily. Anders was grateful that he even came at all.

"I just wanted to say goodbye," Anders said after a moment of silence passed.

Leto frowned, "You couldn't say it at the docks tomorrow?"

"No," Anders replied simply.

Leto looked away, stricken, clearly realising Anders meant that he wouldn't be there at all. "I don't understand. You said you cared for me, but you don't seem to when we're out of the Fade. I haven't seen you in weeks and all you want to do is say goodbye? Is this something to do with... with..." he gestured helplessly, seemingly unsure as to how to voice his thoughts.

"Justice; I am a host to the spirit of Justice," Anders explained briefly. "And yes, in part, Justice has to do with it, but as I said it's complica—"

"Do you desire me or not?" Leto interrupted hotly; and when Anders did not answer immediately, he demanded again, "Well? Do you?"

Anders squeezed his eyes shut, and whispered his answer, "Oh, Maker forgive me, yes!"

Leto threw himself into Anders' arms, pressing urgent kisses onto the older man's startled face.

"Leto, wait." Anders half-heartedly tried to extricate himself. "Leto..."

"Shut up, shut up!" the boy exclaimed. "Just shut up and kiss me!"

"I --" Anders attempted to protest again but was swiftly silenced by another insistent kiss.

They were in the Fade, Anders fervently tried to convince himself, he really wasn't debauching a boy nearly young enough to be his son; it was, after all, just a dream. He groaned, both in pleasure and guilt, as he kissed Leto back. His hands found purchase upon the boy's slim shoulders, pulling the latter closer while sliding a leg between his thighs.

Leto gasped, his eyelids fluttered, and Anders thought it was quite an alluring sight. Hooking an arm around Leto's waist, he lowered them both onto the ground while simultaneously plundering the boy's mouth until breathlessness drew them apart. 

Anders' seasoned fingers made quick work of buttons and laces, and Leto was soon laid bare before him. Anders then propped himself up on his arms and took in the sight before him – the rosiness of Leto's complexion, and the tousled auburn hair; the now-swollen lips that were curved into a shy smile, and the striking emerald eyes, brimful of admiration and teenage lust; not to mention the stiff arousal that seemed to quaver with every breath the boy took. To be so greatly wanted by someone as beautiful and special as Leto sent Anders' own desire thundering.

Although his own thirst begged to be slaked, Anders was mindful enough to make this experience all about Leto. 

Even as Anders peppered kisses all over Leto, paying particular attention to erogenous spots, his drew his hand down to close it around the boy's cock and began stroking at a languorous pace. Leto exhaled sharply, his back arched into Anders, his head thrown back. Anders continued to stroke in a measured pace, thoroughly enjoying the reactions he was eliciting from the boy; and when he placed a tender kiss upon the head of the boy's weeping cock, Leto whimpered; and his eyes flew open to stare in disbelieve when Anders took his entire length into mouth. Anders lavished exquisite attention on the boy – nipping, swirling, kissing, humming – the boy muttering incoherently as he did. Then, before long, Leto climaxed with a keening wail, his hips snapping forwards to bury himself into Anders' mouth even as the latter greedily lapped up the pleasing yield of their initial tryst.

As Leto lay bonelessly on the ground, his eyes closed, his lips curved in a satisfied smile, his ragged breath slowly evening out, Anders watched patiently. Recalling the consideration and the tenderness he had received on his own first experience, he was determined to let Leto set the pace, despite his own hunger. Fortunately for him, the boy was far from done. Once Leto has caught his breath, he sat up and pulled Anders into a clumsy kiss; there was a certain appeal in the inelegance and naïveté to the overture, which excited Anders. 

Leto pulled back and looked somewhat uncertainly at Anders, seemingly a question hovering upon his lips. Anders urged him to say, to tell Anders what exactly he wanted from the former. With a small voice laden with apprehension and a measure of embarrassment, Leto managed to murmur just three words – _fuck me, please_ – that sent Anders spiralling. He fought a nigh-futile battle against his wavering control as sought to make the experience for Leto most enjoyable and memorable, taking utmost care to ready the boy but it was Leto, with urgent, desperate pleas, who proclaimed that he was indeed ready.

Anders' resolve snapped when Leto wilfully climbed atop his lap, grinding both their cocks together in sinful friction. Anders needed no further encouragement, swiftly but carefully guided himself into the boy, making the latter gasp then moan wantonly. There were no sufficient words to describe the exquisiteness of initial entry and Anders took a moment to relish it. Soon he began murmuring words of reassurances and affection to the boy, as he rolled his hips in a steady rhythm. 

Maker, it had been too long since Anders had been intimate with anyone, even if it was merely in dream; for the sensations, the emotions and the sheer pleasure of their union were as stark as they might have been in the corporeal world.

Slow and steady soon began to give way to more urgent, frantic thrusts, which drove Anders closer, ever closer to the precipice. Seeking completion together, he closed his hand once more around Leto's neglected cock and stroked in earnest; and within moments, the boy cried out, his entire being trembling with ecstasy, simultaneously tipping Anders over into unadulterated gratification.

In the field of wildflowers and under beautiful clear skies, they settled down into an embrace, savouring the post-coital bliss that enveloped them. It was a pleasant setting, idyllic even and in some way, Anders hoped that Leto would come to remember him in such a place.

"Will I see you again tomorrow?" Leto soon asked.

"No," Anders answered plainly and without hesitation.

"The next day?"

"We won't be seeing each other again, Leto. Certainly not in this manner."

"What? Why?" Leto rose to scowl at Anders.

"You know I care for you, right?" Anders paused waiting for Leto to acknowledge before he continued, "I want what is best for you. Right now, being in a relationship with me is definitely not the best for you."

"Don't I get a say in it?"

"Alright then, being in a relationship is not the best for me either," Anders replied. "Besides I don't want to hold you back."

"Hold me back from what?"

"You're sixteen, Leto."

"I'm seventeen, actually," Leto cut in somewhat defiantly, as if that one year made all the difference.

"Alright, you're seventeen. Regardless, you have an exciting life ahead of you, one you'll have in freedom. There's so much for you to do – get drunk, lick lamppost in winter, kill a darkspawn, go skinny-dipping, fall in love."

"I'm already in lo—" Leto said quickly.

"With someone closer to your age." Anders interrupted, giving the boy a patient smile. "Trust me when I say, once you're out there, meeting new people, there's bound to be a pretty girl or boy that'll catch your eye. And then you'll forget all about this old fart."

"Never, you never forget your first."

Anders laughed. "Technically, this is just a wet dream, wouldn't you say?"

"No, I wouldn't say," Leto said adamantly, "It's my experience, I get to define it."

Anders smiled indulgently. "Well, in that case, I'm honoured. How often do old farts like me get to brag about popping the cherry of a beautiful seventeen-year-olds?"

"So, I'm just a notch on the bedpost?"

"I think that should be my line. I envision a lot of notches on your bedpost."

"Are you implying I'm easy?"

Anders laughed. "Go, go live your life gloriously. And in five, ten years' time, if you still remember me, maybe we can grab a drink down at the Hanged Man."

"I'll hold you to that." Leto beamed and leaned in for one last kiss.

* * *


	27. Chapter 27

****

Epilogue

Leto yelped when the flat of the broadsword smacked him soundly on the rump. He turned to glower at his sparring partner. His father smirked at him but said nothing. The older man twirled his sword with an impressive measure of flair then gestured for Leto to attack again. Leto tightened his grip on the hilt before charging with his blade aloft, then swinging it low at last moment, hoping to catch his father unawares.

Alas, his father was far too experienced to fall for such an obvious ruse. He parried Leto's attack with contemptible ease, then spun around to smack the boy on the backside again. This time, Leto bit down his cry.

"Good effort," his father said, "Try harder."

Leto nodded and grit his teeth in determination.

It had been nearly eight months since they had arrived at Vigil's Keep. While the Commander was initially dubious about taking on an apprentice, he soon warmed up to Leto as soon as the boy had proven himself to be an attentive and promising student.

Not wanting to live off the good graces of the Wardens, Leto earned his place among the residents as the in-house alchemist while his father had consented to training the Keep's elite guards. Both father and son had settled into a comfortable routine.

Leto knew his father missed Kirkwall, or rather he missed Messere Hawke. It could not have been an easy decision for them to part ways. Leto recognised and appreciated the sacrifice his father made, fuelling his determination to make a success of this endeavour. He had been diligent and earnest in all his lessons, both with his father and the Commander.

Leto attacked once more, his father parrying each strike successfully. Then suddenly the older elf seemed to be distracted and Leto moved in for the kill, so to speak. In spite of the distraction, his father still managed to block, but just barely. Leto's gaze was then drawn to whatever it was his father was staring at.

Across the bailey a small group of people approached. At the vanguard was the unmistakeable visage of the Champion of Kirkwall, looking travel-worn, yet simultaneously impressive. Leto's father dropped his sword, and stalked across the training yard as a man with a singular purpose in his mind. Leto blushed furiously when the Champion caught his father in a fierce embrace and kissed him like the world was about to end. 

Leto groaned in embarrassment, painfully aware that everyone else was gawking at them, and hurriedly looked past them. He saw Captain Isabela, Merrill and Warden Carver, who looked as embarrassed as Leto felt. He continued to search, even craning his neck towards the Keep's gate, for the one person he wanted to see.

Captain Isabela laid an arm around him gently. "He's not with us, sweet thing." Her voice sounded sad.

Leto nodded and tried to hide his disappointment. Surprisingly, the Captain did not remove her arm, instead she gently guided him towards Messere Hawke and his father. As they approached, Leto heard Messere Hawke say they needed an audience with the Warden Commander immediately. Leto's father led the way into the Keep. When Messere Hawke realised that Leto was also being led to accompany them, he cast the Captain an inquisitive glance.

"Everybody is going to hear about what happened sooner rather than later," she replied, "Better for him to hear it from us than some twisted version off the grapevine."

Messere Hawke gave Leto a weary look then nodded. Leto wondered what in the world could've happen.

~*~

Leto sat in his room on a stupor. The maelstrom of emotions had finally abated and it had left him dumbstruck. He had scarcely believed a word that Messere Hawke had told the Warden Commander and his father, but the somber mood that the usually jovial Captain had been in, and the way she had held Leto with concern and care told him that it was no jest.

What was he to think and feel? The man whom he had looked up to, a man that he had aspired to be like could not be the man who had murdered innocents in a Chantry. And yet it was. Throughout their time together, Anders had never concealed the fact that there was little he wouldn't do to secure mage freedom. At that time, Leto had assumed Anders referred to himself and Leto. Thinking back, if Leto had been more mature, wiser, more worldly, he might've been in a position to have changed Anders' plans.

Leto snorted derisively at himself, even now, with the benefit of hindsight, he doubted he could've been able to stop Anders. Certainly not with the indomitable resolve of a Fade spirit driving him. How could a mere boy like him contend with Justice?

Emotions roiled anew in him. Leto reached for a small chest stored under his bed and carefully reached to the bottom to retrieve something. It had been opened and re-wrapped several times and the letter that accompanying it certainly had been read a hundred times. Gingerly, Leto peeled back the wrapping cloth to reveal a small, care-worn pillow with intricate embroidery on its cover. Leto had always thought that it was beautiful. He reached out to smooth out the crinkles, never really dare touching it before. It just seemed too precious.

In the letter, Anders had explained that his mother had made it for him, and it was the only thing he had been allowed to keep in the Circle. It had remained steadfast at his side in all his travels, but he felt that it now needed a new owner. Leto had not understood it then, but now he realised that Anders had wanted to preserve the last and oldest memento of his humanity and he had chosen Leto to be its custodian.

Fresh tears brimmed in Leto eyes, as he drew the pillow close to his chest. 

Messere Hawke had admitted he didn't know whether Anders was would still be alive after they parted company, but Leto knew Anders was. In the past week, Leto has heard the faint echo of a mewling cat in his dreams. He had thought that it to be imagined, for he himself has felt Anders' absence keenly; but now he knew that Anders had inadvertently tried to reach him; perhaps Anders' conscious desire to do so was impeded by Justice, by Anders' own decision to not burden Leto, or both. Nevertheless, Leto was confident his old mentor still lived. 

Even as his heart told him not to invest in false hope, Leto would continue to listen vigilantly for the cat beckoning. One thing he was certain of was that, as long as Anders lived, one day, when Leto has become, more mature, wiser and more worldly, he would find Anders, and he would get the drink, and the explanation, that he was owed.

~FIN~


End file.
